Strange Bedfellows
by sciencegeek51
Summary: Two characters that I really enjoy are FBI Agent Hendrickson and the Trickster.  This is a story I would pitch to Kripke if I were in the position to.  But I'm not, so I'm sharing it here.  Gratis...  and thanks to Kripke for sharing the boys with us.
1. Chapter 1

Feb. 17, 2008. I'm tweaking this a bit to clean up any mistakes in grammar and spelling... though I'm sure I'll still miss a few... and hopefully make it flow a little smoother. Well, that's my intention, anyway.

I'm also using this as an opportunity to reflect upon what actually occurs in Season 3. Yes, this little tale is now off canon because they decided to use both the Trickster and Hendrickson in a different way. But I came up with this storyline last May and I'm getting quite a kick at the similarities that do exist between this story and theirs. Even to bringing in Bobby and the suturing ... it really is playing out like an AU version... so this sci fi loving geek doesn't feel too heretical.

Maybe I did pitch them my story? As in sent out the vibes and they picked them up... yeah, in my dreams... lol

Thanks again for all the kind reviews... and feel to offer comments or suggestions.

Strange Bedfellows:

Chapter 1

The morning light filtered softly through gauzy curtains, lending an air of serenity to the room. Seated in a comfortable stuffed armchair by the window, an elderly black woman stares blankly at the opposite wall, her thin, gnarled hands fussing gently with the knitted afghan covering her lap and legs as if anxious to take up some unnamed task. The walls are covered with a pastel, flowered wallpaper that blends nicely with the floral pattern of the chair and the neatly made up bed in the corner. A vase filled with fresh flowers sits on the bed stand and the soft playing of gospel hymns in the background adds to the feeling of peace and tranquility.

A second chair faces the old woman and is occupied by her grandson, FBI Special Agent Victor Hendrickson. Since her crippling stroke the previous year his grandmother has been confined to this well run nursing facility; one that actually exceeded his exacting standards. Half blind from various medical problems and now slowly recovering from the effects of the stroke, she has good days and bad days. But she had raised Victor after his preacher father & his mother were killed in a car crash and he visits whenever he can, good days or not, taking her for fresh air outside on the grounds in nice weather or just sitting with her in her room and chatting away.

It was little enough compared to what he felt he owed her. With the exception of some distant cousins that he had only met once or twice as a child, she was the only family he had. Barely nine when his parent's car was struck by escaping bank robbers in a stolen getaway car, Victor could trace his interest in law enforcement to that life altering event.

This is one of her better days, though she's hardly said a word since he arrived; and the CD that they are listening to is a new one he had just brought her, filled with her favorite hymns. The staff was very good about ensuring that she had music to listen to throughout the day and had mentioned that she seemed to respond best to hearing the old time gospel songs, hardly surprising for the wife and mother of Baptist ministers. Amazing Grace is currently playing in the background and she starts to sing along in a soft, whispery voice. Victor decided right then that it was definitely worth the hours it had taken to track down the recordings and then get one of the wiz kid computer geeks that worked in his field office to "burn" them onto the CD for him after work in exchange for a large pizza with the "works". _Kids._ Victor's stomach still churned at the thought of that pizza. Call him a purist, but no one was ever going to convince him that tropical fruits had any business being on a pizza.

Victor resumes talking to her, continuing his abridged version of what he had been doing since his last visit. Pursuit of the Winchester brothers is at the top of his list and his voice grows more and more passionate as he recounts his, thus far, fruitless efforts to locate the brothers. Their seemingly miraculous escape from the Green County jail was infuriating, and Victor didn't think Dean would make another rookie mistake anytime soon. He'd hardly believed his luck the first time around, not after Dean and Sam had so completely dropped off the map for months following the bank job in Milwaukee. His grandmother looked pensive and she suddenly spoke aloud in a surprising clear and unslurred manner, " The Lord has such mysterious ways, and it's so hard to keep to the path. But He never gives His chosen ones more than they can bear."

"Now, Granny," Victor laughed," since when did you start thinking that I'm that special?"

"Oh, you're special, child. And the Lord knows what a good man you are; but I'm not talking here about you, boy." And with that she once more lapsed into silence, except for her contented humming along with the hymns.

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Two states over from where Victor is visiting his grandmother, the subjects of his current manhunt, Dean & Sam Winchester, arrive at a remote cabin, one of many that their father had used over the years. Unused except during the fall hunting season, its location on the private land of a grateful family that John Winchester had saved from a reawakened, malevolent spirit back when the brothers were still young made it an ideal spot to lay low for awhile.

Both young men are bruised and battered, but Dean is the more seriously injured. Their chasing down of the demon army had been put on hold while they dealt with a particularly nasty poltergeist that had taken up residence in a rowhouse. During their attempt to oust the unwanted intruder, the poltergeist had brought down a good sized section of ceiling right on top of Dean before he managed to place the last ward that finally banished it from the place. The commotion had attracted the neighbors' attention and the boys fled before the police could arrive, with Sam grabbing an armload of towels to staunch the blood flow as best he could until they reached a safe haven. Dean's left shoulder had caught the brunt of the collapsing ceiling supports and now Sam was forced to do quite a bit of suturing to patch all the lacerations caused by the falling debris. "_Should have been pre-med , not pre-law._", he thought to himself as he methodically tied off his stitches. Their stash of medical supplies had been running low and this pretty much finished it off. A fifth of cheap whiskey from the trunk of the car served as anesthetic while Sam carefully patched up his brother.

Dean endured Sam's ministrations silently, interrupting the process with periodic swigs from the fifth when things got a little too uncomfortable. He felt so worn and tired; grateful for this chance to just sit and do nothing. He was doubly grateful that Sam was giving him some space... not hovering over him or haranguing him about what he felt needed to be done... just quietly tending their hurts in a matter of fact manner.

Ever since Sam figured out that Dean had summoned the cross roads demon and traded his soul for Sam's life, payment due in one year's time, Sam had fluctuated between deep concern for his brother and total outrage at the cost of the deal. Or maybe it was that he felt both ways simultaneously, with one or the other emotion gaining the upper hand.

At the same time, Dean was undergoing his own turmoil, wanting to live it up in his few remaining months and find anyway he could to not think beyond the approaching moment when the debt for Sam's life would be collected. And of course, neither brother's behavior was in sync with the other... so neither could find a shared moment that would allow them to address their issues. So they continued this strange dance... feinting back and forth... resolving nothing.

However, even as he raged inwardly about Dean's behavior and seeming indifference about his fate, Sam had been slowly growing more and more solicitous of his big brother. No longer could he take anything for granted about Dean. He didn't dare; because he knew all too well that in spite of his best efforts to save Dean, he still might fail. Sam knew that he owed Dean so much and he needed to ensure that Dean got the best year possible under the circumstances. It was only a drop in bucket compared to what he owed Dean, but it was a start.

He still desperately wanted to see Dean fight back; this "new" Dean was so unlike the brother he was sure he knew so well. If Sam had felt frustrated when Dean seemed to accept his death so easily after his accidental electrocution during the fight with the rawhead, he was now finding whole new levels of frenzied exasperation. But he also remembered, or at least he did after Bobby had torn him a new one a month or so back, that his final moments with his dad had been marred by his unbridled anger and desire to continue the never ending battle of wills that had existed between them for so long.

It had taken Sam awhile, but he was starting to gain a better understanding of his brother now than he ever had in the past. During the past two years that they had worked together in the "family business"of hunting down supernatural evil, Sam had slowly come to the realization that most of what he thought he "knew" about his brother was really just the self protective facade that Dean used to get through the relentless grind of the "job"... be it fighting evil creatures or taking care of his pain in the ass little brother. Dean's need to protect his family over rode his own self interest to an unhealthy degree; and while it frustrated Sam to no end, he was learning to accept the fact that Dean's "problems" were the result of their screwed up childhood, and getting mad at Dean wouldn't solve anything. Any more than taking out his anger on his dad had helped. Sam sometimes wondered what might have been if he had been more open about his family with Jess. Perhaps she would have helped him figure things out earlier. Lord knew that she repeatedly tried to get him to open up about his family, only to have him shut down completely on her. What if it could have prevented her death? He'd never know, but the residual guilt would be a part of him forever.

Sam had mostly felt safe as a child, thanks to Dean... but then later when he felt unsafe and threatened as he grew older and better understood what the family did, Sam had responded with anger and resentment. Sam deeply regretted how he seemed to let his anger take control and make him oblivious to the needs of his family. Sure his childhood was messed up, but that was the fault of the yellow eyed demon, not his dad or Dean. They were victims as well. And now to add to it... Sam learned from evil thing itself that it was Sam all along that the yellow eyed demon had wanted; so here he had been blaming them when it was really as much his fault that his mother died so horrifically and that seeing her die that way was what set his father on the path he took.

Sam distrusted the yellow eyed demon enough that he didn't put much faith in the "dream" he had back in Cold Oaks. Rosie's mom didn't recognize the demon when it invaded her nursery, so why should his own mother or situation be any different. Her spirit had protected the young family from the poltergeist in their former home and made the ultimate sacrifice to save her sons. _'No. It was a lie. That's what demons do. They lie.'_ Sam would not accept a demon's word about the character of his mother.

So now Sam was growing more tolerant as Dean drank a little more, or maybe a lot more, than he should. Knowing what lay in wait had to be taking its toll on Dean; and while Sam knew that Dean would make the same deal again in a heartbeat, there was no way he could not be dreading his fate. Because of his new awareness, Sam made an effort not to get so caught up in the hunt that he neglected sharing time with Dean. No longer did Dean play darts or pool solo, Sam would put away the laptop and join in. And the more he did so, the more natural it became. Two brothers sharing some fun together. He did draw the line at "hooking up" with girls, but Dean actually spent far less time chasing skirts than he had before, preferring to spend his time with Sam. Sometimes it seemed that Dean would spend great lengths of time just observing Sam, content to merely hear Sam breathe or watch him do the most mundane tasks. Of course, he would deny that he was doing anything more than listening to his music or daydreaming. But Dean seemed to still be haunted by the agonizing hours that he spent staring at his brother's corpse and needed to assure himself that Sam was alive and going to stay that way.

Finally finished with his suturing, Sam cleaned up and put away the remaining first aid materials. Dean went over to one of the beds and lay down in preparation for sleep. Sam rummaged around for a clean sheet of paper and started a list of supplies they needed. By the time Sam found some paper and was ready to get Dean's input, the exhausted young man was sound asleep. Sam fondly watched his brother softly snore, glad that he was finally getting some rest. He would finish the list and then see how much cash they had on hand. The credit cards were too risky to use in this isolated area, but he would definitely need to make a supply run before too long. There was only enough food left in the car for one decent meal since they had been using their supplies more heavily than usual while staying low. He'd let Dean sleep while he made something for them for lunch and then head out after ensuring that Dean ate something healthy for a change.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

While Sam was checking through the cabin to see what supplies he and Dean needed, Victor and his grandmother had shared a pleasant lunch in the dining hall . Once finished, Victor decided that a leisurely walk would be a nice treat for his grandmother. It was early afternoon and the sky was a vibrant blue with nary a cloud to be found. Victor slowly pushed his grandmother's wheelchair through the stately grounds, enjoying the rich colors and intoxicating scents coming from the many garden beds. Formerly a privately run TB sanitarium from an era when it was believed that patients needed to be completely isolated from the general population and would benefit from as much fresh air as possible, the nursing home is nestled in a fairly remote site out in the countryside. This visit has been pleasant and Victor hoped that his grandmother's condition would improve enough that he could take her back to their old hometown for the holidays. The care here was first rate, but its location was so far away from the people that she had known all her life that she received few visitors. This had to be difficult for a woman whose home had always been open to friends and fellow parishioners. The best Christmas present that Victor could give her would be time spent in the company of friends. Maybe he could swing a way to bring some folks out for an occasional visit. He'd have to think on that for awhile.

Their afternoon stroll was interrupted by a call on his agency cell phone. Even off duty, Victor kept it on, set to vibrate, in case his office needed to get in touch. Pulling the phone from deep inside his pocket, Victor wondered how married agents managed to maintain a personal life; but then again, considering the divorce rate among enforcement personnel, maybe they didn't have any more success than he did.

Making sure than his grandmother was still warmly covered with her afghan, Victor stepped a short distance from her and, facing away, answered his phone. "Special Agent Hendrickson here. And it had better be a damn good reason for you to be calling me here."

Victor allowed himself a satisfied smile as one of his field office's junior agents started to stammer out a barely coherent explanation, but the smile vanished, replaced by a feral snarl, as he learned that there had been a confirmed sighting of the Winchester brothers in South Bend, Indiana the previous day. _Damn!_ Victor experienced a rush of conflicting emotions. Elated at the break and chance of catching up with Dean and his brother, Victor simultaneously cursed the timing that not only would make him need to disappoint his grandmother, but also came when he was so far away from both his office and the quarry. He was a good two hour drive from the closest airport which was another two or three hour flight away from South Bend. And that was assuming he could even get a direct flight, which it turned out he couldn't, though he did manage to talk his way into a seat on a flight that would take him to Indianapolis. His team would figure out a way to pick him up from there.

Finished with making his arrangements, Victor pocketed his phone and took his grandmother back to her room. She didn't fuss when he explained that he had to leave, but he could swear that she was holding back tears. Promising his grandmother that he'd make up for his short visit, Victor gave her a kiss and hug before leaving her room and heading for the airport. He'd never even gotten a chance to unpack his bags from the trunk of the rental car, so there was no need to swing into town and pick up anything; just a quick call to cancel his room reservation.

Arriving at the airport, Victor used his credentials to blast through the check in process, impatient to get to his destination and move in on his quarry. He had spent part of the long drive getting updates from his team and was pleased that the operation was moving forward smoothly in his absence, even though there were no further sightings of either Dean or Sam. What they were doing in South Bend was anyone's guess. Victor hoped they would get them into custody before the body count grew any higher.

Things seemed to be going well until Victor looked out the terminal window and got his first look at his flight. His FBI credentials may have gotten Victor through the security lines and onto a flight, but they didn't give him the pull to redirect a commercial flight, so he had to settle for the first flight available, which was the small commuter plane sitting out on the tarmac. Obviously owned by some bush league small time operator, it wasn't even a jet; how sad was that? Gritting his teeth, he realized that he hadn't been in prop plane since he was a kid and the air turbulence had bounced the small craft around so much that he had puked his guts out. _Damn! _ Not one of his fonder memories.

Victor would just have to endure it, because truth to tell, the Bureau considered the Winchesters to be small fish to fry and he and his team had at least a dozen more cases of equal or greater importance. Despite the seriousness of the charges against them, they were still only unproven charges and without convictions or definite links to national security risks, the Winchester investigation would have to be conducted using normal channels and methods. His immediate supervisor, however, valued Victor and his dedication to the job, so he was allowed a degree of freedom with the understanding that it was a privilege not to be abused. As long as Victor produced results, his office would smooth the ruffled feathers that resulted from his less than tactful methods.

Much to Victor's relief the flight was uneventful to their first destination and he remained seated as about half the passengers exited the plane and he was able to once again use his phone to contact his team and apprise them of his location and get whatever updates were available. The plane would be taking off for Indianapolis within the hour and a Bureau helicopter would be waiting there to pick him up. "That was more like it.", Victor thought to himself smugly and he continued with his briefing.

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Completely unaware of the FBI's activities, Sam Winchester stood in a mostly empty grocery store parking lot glaring at the Impala. It was a wonder that the car's paint wasn't smoking and curling from the heated looks that Sam kept sending its way. If Sam didn't fear Dean's retaliation, he would have kicked it, he was that mad and frustrated. _Why this? Why now?_ After pooling together their available cash, Sam had left Dean getting some much needed sleep while he drove into the small nearby town to pick up what supplies he could find. And he had to admit, the local grocery did carry a pretty good range of items, even if they were a little higher priced than Sam had hoped; and he was able to get most of what he wanted and everything he really needed.

That wasn't the problem. The problem that had Sam giving the Impala his patented _daggers of death _glares was that once Sam had finished loading the supplies into the car and gotten behind the wheel, turning the key in the ignition hadn't produced the usual rumble and roar of the engine. In fact, it hadn't produced even as much as a click... just silence. Considering that there had been nothing wrong with the car on the drive into town and Dean kept the Impala in perfect running condition, Sam felt betrayed by this sudden and unexpected turn of events. He dreaded having to call Dean to explain why not only he wasn't on his way back to the cabin, but he was stuck in the parking lot waiting for the local garage mechanic to show up and either solve the problem or tow the car back to his shop. _Damn!_ So much for not using the credit cards. Maybe he'd luck out and it was just a loose wire or something simple like that. Though he had opened the hood earlier and, after a moment of blankly staring at the offending engine, gingerly tested whatever connections he could readily see and had come up with nothing. "Typical Winchester luck.", he thought glumly.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to those of you who have commented on my slowly moving tale. It will indeed pick up steam shortly... promise.

Chapter 3

Twenty minutes past its scheduled departure time Victor's plane still sat on the tarmac, passengers and all but one of the crew onboard. Sitting where it had landed, it hadn't even been able to head out to the taxi way, much less the runway since the missing crew member just happened to be the pilot. As soon as Victor was aware that there was a problem he had gone forward to check out the situation. It seemed that the pilot must have eaten some tainted food, because he was suffering from a severe case of suspected food poisoning and, while the co-pilot was feeling fine, both she and the pilot had eaten at the same place and there was no guarantee that she wouldn't also become a victim. In fact, the co-pilot would be leaving shortly and going along with the pilot to the local emergency room as a precaution. _Great. Just frigging great!_

To further confound things, the closest replacements for the fight crew wouldn't be able to show up before early evening and there weren't any other flights leaving for Indianapolis until the next morning. Victor was ready to believe that the universe was conspiring against him personally. He trusted his team to do their job and do it well, but he really, really wanted to be there in the thick of things. He couldn't explain why he had become so obsessed with personally taking down the Winchesters, but there it was. Victor could practically taste how badly he wanted to bring Dean Winchester and his brother to justice. Maybe it was because the whole family, father and sons, had flown under the radar for so long and a reckoning was long overdue. The whole situation offended Victor's sensibilities and he was determined to set things right. Where his late father and grandfather had done their best to promote a better world with their sermons from the pulpit, Victor, for his part, used his badge and gun to try and do his bit to make the world a little safer.

After the co-pilot made an announcement to update everyone on the situation, most of the passengers opted to remain with the plane and at least hope to arrive in Indianapolis before midnight. This was not an acceptable option for Victor and after a series of phone calls to his team, he decided to rent a car and make the relatively short drive over to a neighboring city that had a somewhat larger airport, and more importantly, several direct flights to South Bend later that evening. Leaving to his team the details of securing him a seat on the first flight out after his arrival there, Victor had his bags removed from the plane and raced over to the airport's "rent a heap" area to secure a vehicle for the trip.

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If Victor thought that he was having troubles with his plans, Sam was beside himself with anxiety about the Impala and his brother. His afternoon had consisted of waiting for the local version of roadside assistance to show up and produce a miracle. Instead, what had happened was that the tow truck had arrived fairly quickly enough and out came a fortyish guy who could have been a Bobby Singer clone - from the baseball cap down to the salt and pepper beard. Sam had to keep himself from staring at the guy the entire time, the similarity was so eerie. Upon seeing the Impala, the fellow broke into a huge grin and started singing the praises of the old classic American made cars and complimenting Sam on how well he had managed to maintain the Impala and keep it in mint condition. Dean would have been in hog heaven hearing the praises being sung for his beloved car. Sam, on the other hand, was acutely uncomfortable and wanted only for the man to check her out and fix whatever it was that was wrong so he could go on his way.

The mechanic did indeed prove to be quite competent and knowledgeable, but that wasn't enough to solve the problem, which proved to be a dead starter. Unfortunately for Sam, nobody happened to have a replacement starter for a 1967 Chevy Impala just sitting around on the self. A rebuilt starter could be ordered, but would take at the very least another day or more to arrive and be installed. Which meant that Sam was stuck in town and the Impala was now sitting in front of the garage with all the supplies still in the trunk. He knew that Dean could make do with what food was there in the cabin; heck, Sam knew that Dean could survive on junk food for days on end if need be. It was more that Dean was hurt and Sam really wanted to be there to check on him if necessary. He knew that his first aid efforts that morning were more than adequate and Dean would scoff and accuse him of being a chick, but Sam didn't like the fact that he was stuck there in town without any way to get back to the cabin. As far as the guys at the garage knew, Sam was alone on a road trip and while impatient to be back on his way, there wasn't anyone waiting for him. It had just seemed prudent to leave Dean's presence at the cabin a secret, especially considering that the cabin was supposedly vacant and used only by the owner's family for a few weekends of hunting. The less known by outsiders, the safer it was for them and the boys.

Realizing his plight, the garage owner made a phone call to arrange for a place for Sam to stay. The local rooming house just down the street was run by his wife's cousin. Just a seasonal operation, they usually took in out of town hunters during the spring and fall hunting seasons, but were willing to open up a room for him since it hardly looked like he was going to be going anywhere anytime soon. It seemed a safe bet that stealing a car to go check on Dean was hardly an option in this one horse town. This far off the beaten track, Sam was fairly certain that he was the only outsider to visit in the past month and the last thing they needed was for the county sheriff to be called in and find a reason to check out the Impala.

There was no putting it off any longer, so Sam glumly grabbed his laptop and a bag with some spare clothes from the trunk and locked up the car. He'd walk over to the small diner that was also located on the main drag and grab a bite to eat. Then he'd call Dean from there and fill him in on the deal, before heading over to the rooming house. Sam had hoped to use some of the time away on his supply run to do some more research on Dean's problem; maybe give Bobby a call to see if he had found anything. He'd been doing his research on the sly ever since Dean had come out and told him the details about the deal. But it hadn't killed him yet, so Sam was sure that the demon had meant only that Dean couldn't try to break the deal. He had thought of asking Ruby, but decided against it. She was a demon and had her own agenda; regardless of what she said or did, Sam didn't trust her or her motives. It was just a matter of time until she showed her true colors. He would continue working on a way to save them both because he realized that his brother had meant it when he said that he couldn't live with him dead. Sam was willing to trade his life for Dean's, but he couldn't figure out a way to make Dean want to continue to live after he was gone.

Tracking down the demon horde was consuming so much time, and Dean's time was growing shorter and shorter. So while Dean continued to act as if time was no big deal, Sam was struggling to keep himself from falling apart and manage to be there for Dean when his mask of indifference started to slip. Thinking back on all the times that Dean had been there for him, Sam wondered how he had pulled it off... keep his game face on, no matter what... and at what cost? How could he have been so blind all those years to not see what was right under his nose? How could he and his dad have been so obsessed with their own often petty concerns and remain oblivious to the fact that Dean was a person too, a member of their family with his own unmet needs and desires. Instead, they had constantly demanded that Dean take sides in their perpetual arguing, to be used like a pawn as they continued their battle of wills. If Dean was broken inside, was he as responsible for that as any demon?

Sam's reverie was interrupted by a group of laughing people emerging from the diner. He was there already. _Um._ Sam took a seat at an empty booth, shoving his bags in the corner and giving a quick smile to the waitress who came up and handed him a menu and took his drink order. The dinner special didn't look bad and the price fit his budget, so he placed his order and took a long sip of his water. 'Well, can't put it off any longer', he thought and pulled out his phone to call Dean.

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One thing that isn't obvious when one travels across the country by plane is that "as the crow flies" becomes meaningless when one is restricted to travel along country roads that meander over hill and dale. Victor was painfully reminded of that simple fact when twenty minutes into his drive he encountered some highway construction and was forced onto a detour route around it. Muttering imprecations under his breath as he followed the detour signs on one poorly marked road after another in the dark and noticed that the signs of human habitation were growing scarcer and scarcer, Victor was starting to think that he had not picked the best option for getting to South Bend quickly, or anywhere else for that matter. In fact, Victor had the growing feeling that not only had he made an error in judgement, but also that he was completely lost. None of the cars available at the rental place had onboard GPS and the roadmap that came with the car only showed main routes, and the roads he had been forced onto didn't even have marker signs to identify them. Yup, he was sure of it now. He was good and truly lost.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Victor let out a loud expletive as he realized that he hadn't seen a detour sign for too long a time and the road he was on was looking more and more like a barely maintained rural lane. _Damn! How the hell had this happened?_ He would have sworn that he hadn't missed a turnoff, but the night was dark with no moon and had been getting steadily foggy for the past 45 minutes. Victor was frustrated, but he marshaled himself together and considered his options. It wasn't by chance or because of some misguided bureaucratic attempt at affirmative action that Victor had been promoted to a leadership position. He had proven himself time and again to be a smart and determined investigator that wasn't deterred by setbacks and had long since won the loyalty of his team, even if they did sometimes grouse about his less than charming moments.

First thing to do was to take stock of what he knew, which unfortunately wasn't much. He had no idea where he was, just that the area was rural and densely wooded. He could keep going further on down the road or he could find a spot to turn the car around and see if he could retrace his path. Victor turned on the car radio to see if he could find a local station. That might give him an idea of just where the hell he was. But all he got from the radio was loud hissing and crackling static, so he turned the radio off.

Calling his team to see if they could locate him by the GPS chip in his cell phone wasn't an option because he had lost the phone signal way back at the start of the detour. He knew that because he had tried to update his team about the detour and had tried again at fifteen minute intervals. The frustrated agent decided that turning around would be the best option and, seeing an area that looked alright for making a three point turn, pulled off the road.

No sooner had he pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, then the car radio, despite having been turned off, started to make weird noises and the engine sputtered and died, followed immediately by the lights. Victor tried restarting the car, but nothing he did would get it running again. Maybe it was the bizarre circumstances or maybe it was the growing fog, but Victor suddenly felt uneasy. His gut was telling him that things were just not right, but he was stuck in the middle of nowhere and had only two options... stay with the car or head back along the road and look for help. He remembered seeing a house a mile or two back on the road, so he decided to head back in that direction. Locking the car and pocketing the keys, Victor unconsciously patted his gun and holster, ensuring that everything he needed was in place. He didn't expect to have problems following the road despite not having a flashlight. Once he found an occupied house, he would flash his badge and use their phone to contact his team. _Piece of cake._

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It was well past dark when Dean finally awoke. Still stiff and sore, but feeling a lot less like death warmed over, and ready to eat a horse. He hoped that Sammy had something planned soon for dinner. Looking around the small cabin, he wondered where the heck Sam was at. Checking out the window and seeing the Impala was also missing, he vaguely remembered Sam muttering something about making a supply run to stock up on food and replenishing the first aid kit. '_OK... No problem there_,' he thought, '_But what the hell is taking him so long?_' The cabin may be well off the beaten path, but it still was only a twenty minute drive from town, give or take, and lunch had been hours ago, judging by his watch... and the state of his growling stomach. Dean's first reaction was assess the situation, years of training and hunting made it next to impossible to be completely relaxed when a member of his family wasn't present and accounted for. If it turned out that Sam was delayed for some benign reason, then he'd get pissed off; but until that time, Dean would be on alert and in full big brother mode.

It doesn't take that long to do a little shopping, and it was hardly like Sam would have taken a little detour to the local watering hole or found a willing girl to hook up with. _Wuss!_ How the heck two such opposite guys could end up as brothers was a constant source of mystery and bewilderment for him. It didn't make him care any the less for his kid brother, but it did seem to present a never ending supply of obstacles to their just being able to relax together and enjoy each other's company.

They were close as brothers, but Dean truly regretted that they never seemed to be friends that could hang out and be comfortable together. He knew that he constantly exasperated Sam with his antics, his music ... well, the list just seemed to go on. Sam had been making an effort to be less critical lately._ 'Solicitous of his short lived older brother.' _The thought made Dean snort, but the truth was that Dean was indeed touched by this small evidence of his brother's love and concern; not that he'd admit it to Sammy. Not yet, anyway. Right now his emotional stability more closely resembled a house of cards, just waiting for the slightest touch to send it all toppling down. Somehow he'd have to manage to keep it together for the rest of his year. Remembering the look in his father's eyes that day, Dean understood what his dad had to be going through, trying to say goodbye without voicing the words. In a perverse way, having so short a time left was easier. Less time to brood, less need to be strong, just less everything. Thankful that his dad had managed to climb out of that pit, Dean dared hope that he too would get the opportunity.

Dean knew that Sam was taking the whole deal thing hard, but he also knew that Sam was strong and would recover from losing him. He had survived the loss of Dad, the loss of Jess. Sam had already shown that he could live without his family, make a new life for himself. He'd done it once already. Hell, he'd still be at Stanford if not for that damned yellow eyed demon. Sam was stronger than he gave himself credit for. Stronger than Dean himself was; because Dean had barely handled the loss of their dad, and failed utterly to face a life without Sam. What kind of a freak was he that he feared damnation less than trying to live without Sam?

Dean shook off his dark thoughts and got back to the business at hand. He needed to figure out what was keeping Sam so long. Going over to where his jacket was hanging on the back of a chair, he pulled out his cell phone and checked. _Yup. _He had three missed calls. _'Well, time to fix that.' , _Dean decided as he dialed his brother's phone.

Sam answered on the first ring, his tone apologetic as he relayed the mechanic's prognosis of the problem with the Impala and how long it would take to fix. Dean was not happy about it, but decided he would take out his frustration on something other than his brother. From the way he sounded on the phone, Sammy must have been dreading having to tell him and getting more and more worked up about it as time passed and he couldn't get through. He'd suffered enough already, so Dean let him off the hook and acted cool about the whole deal. Hell, soon enough the Impala would be Sammy's anyway. He needed to learn how to do more than just pump gas into her.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Walking back down the dark road, Victor started hearing strange noises in the distance and his really bad feeling just kept getting worse... Between the darkness and the fog, he couldn't see much of anything; but the feeling of being watched was growing stronger and stronger. Running over in his mind what kind of wild animals he might expect to see in such a rural area, Victor realized that he was such a city boy that he really had no idea if bears or cougars where native to this neck of the woods. His government issue weapon was designed to handle human predators, not wild animals; and while he had a full clip in his gun, all his spare ammo was back at his apartment or his desk at headquarters. After all, the last thing he expected on a visit to his grandmother was to be lost out in the wilderness.

Drawing his weapon but leaving the safety on, Victor felt less naked and more in control of the situation, though he really had no idea what the hell was going on. He continued down the road when suddenly a strange apparition appeared in front of him and he felt himself being tossed into the woods like a rag doll. Getting up, slightly dazed and disoriented, Victor heard a crashing noise behind him, so he stumbled through the woods away from the noise and the road. He still had his weapon and needed to look for a place to take a stand against whatever it was that was attacking him. He blindly made his through the woods, forced by the approaching sounds to seek shelter of any kind.

Victor was now far from the road and the uneven terrain is disorienting him, but he didn't dare stop because he could hear rustling and the sounds of something large in the undergrowth. He was certain that he was being stalked by some kind of wild animal and was prepared to fire as soon as he could get a clear shot. Slowly he made his way through the brush and trees, trying not to make too much noise when a high, piercing wail echoed around him. The sound had the hairs on the back of his neck fully raised. For at least 20 minutes, that nerve wreaking scream would break the silence as Victor tried to pin point its location, to no avail.

The beleaguered agent stumbled through the brush and trees completely lost. Gasping for air, he was forced to stop and try to catch his breath, leaning against a thick tree to keep from falling over. Still breathing heavily after his brief stop, Victor tried to see through the fog and darkness, hoping that there was a path he might find to follow. But there was nothing to be seen except the shadowy outlines of more trees and brush.

Suddenly a ghostly figure appeared in front of him and then flickered and disappeared. And then reappeared off to the side. Victor was unnerved and only a hairs breath away from panicking. What the hell was happening? He had no idea if it would help, but Victor released the safety on his gun and fired twice at the thing in front of him. For his efforts, Victor found himself once again flying through the air, this time landing on a fallen tree. Fierce pain seared through his leg and he realized that he had impaled his leg on the broken stub of a branch. _Damn!_ He just wasn't getting any kind of break. But Victor believed you made your own luck, so he worked himself loose from the branch and struggling to his feet slowly turned in a circle to face his unseen opponent.

Victor called upon very ounce of training that he ever had and strained his senses to the limit, searching the darkness for any indication of where it was. Whatever it was, it sure wasn't a wild animal. Nor was it any kind of natural being, of that he was certain. Bullets were useless against it, but they were all he had. Victor silently laughed at the absurdity of still hoping to rely on his weapon, but recognized that the feel of it in his hand gave him a measure of calm and he desperately needed to keep his cool if he was to have any hope at all against his foe. So he continued to survey his surroundings, weapon at the ready. Finally his wait was over. The ghostly apparition appeared once more before him and slowly started to approach closer and closer.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Finished with his call to Sam, Dean rummaged around in the cabin's small kitchen area to scrounge up something to eat. The light from the single lit kerosene lamp gave enough illumination to confirm that the cupboard was pretty bare, Sam must have used most of what was already there to make their lunch. At least he had left behind some of the emergency food from the car... a few small cans of potted meat that their dad had referred to as "Spam in a Can" back when they were kids to go along with the partial bag of half stale crackers left over from lunch. No culinary delight, but it would keep you going. Dean just wished that he had a beer or three to wash it all down. He could hold out 'til the car was fixed and Sam returned with some decent grub... and a case of beer. But for now, if he wanted anything to drink, he needed to get the hand pump outside the front door primed and start pumping. An easy enough task when healthy, but not a particularly pleasant one when stiff and sore from having half a ceiling dropped on you. Dean cursed his luck, but knew that putting it off would just make things worse, so he went out and filled every bucket he found laying about the place and slowly carried them inside. He had enough water for at least a day. Enough to wash up with and to keep his injuries clean enough to prevent serious infection from setting in, plus he had a small bucket set aside by the wood cook stove for cooking and drinking purposes. There was a jar of instant coffee in the cupboard ... _ugh._.. but these were desperate times. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do to ensure his daily dose of caffeine; but he couldn't help feeling a twinge of disappointment because, unlike his dad and brother, Dean really enjoyed the taste of good, strong brewed coffee.

Thank god there was a decent amount of cord wood neatly stacked next to the wood stove so he didn't need to make a trip outside for that. Opening the door to the fire box, Dean added a few large pieces to the dwindling fire to ward off the evening chill and then proceeded to eat his far from satisfying supper. Finished all too quickly, Dean tossed the empty can in the general direction of the dry sink and smirked when it landed right where he wanted. Brushing the cracker crumbs off the plate and onto the floor, he left the plate on the table while he rose up and went over to the shelf that held a number of empty lamps. He gratefully thanked whoever had put them away because their chimneys were all cleaned, the wicks neatly trimmed and all that was needed was to add some kerosene to the reservoirs and then '_let there be light'. _Dean's grin got bigger when he saw that there was at least a gallon of kerosene left for the lamps. _Thank god_. Candles were all well and good in a pinch, but the flickering light and dripping wax was a royal pain in the ass. If he couldn't have electricity, then at least let him have a decent oil lamp. If only he could figure out a way to safely stow a couple of lamps in the Impala's trunk, but glass and high speed chases did **not** mix well. Sooner or later the damn things broke and he had to clean up the shattered glass. And it was nasty business making sure that every shard was taken care of, so... candles it was that traveled with them.

After replenishing the salt line at the front door that he had disturbed when bringing in the water, Dean settled back on his bunk to listen to his tunes, trying not to aggravate his injuries anymore than he already had. Between what little whiskey was left in the bottle and the too few capsules of painkiller left, Dean knew he was in for some uncomfortable times ahead. _Damn! _

He was singing along to Black Sabbath's Ironman when the flames in the lamps started to flicker wildly and he was up from the bed in a flash and over to the windows to check things out. Outside it was pitch black. Any light from the stars and waning moon was blocked by the heavy overcast sky. If anything was out there, Dean couldn't see it. He opened the door a crack and listened for any strange sounds, but heard nothing. He continued to listen and then he heard it. What sounded like a cry for help coming from deep in the woods.

Wary of some trick, Dean reviewed in his mind every creature he knew of that used mimicry of human voices to lure unsuspecting victims its way. And there were plenty to choose from, but none that he knew to be likely to be found in this particular area or even relatively close. Dean and his dad had spent a lot of time in this cabin over the years. There had never been anything even remotely paranormal about the location in all that time. That was a major part of what made the place such a good haven for the hunters. So Dean was left to wonder if this was a trap, or was there actually some poor person lost out there in need of help. Either way, he knew he would have to go and investigate. And if it was indeed a trap, Dean would do his best to turn the tables around and be the one doing the trapping. Whatever was out there would learn that it didn't pay to mess with a Winchester.

Dean quickly sorted through his duffel bag to remove any item that wasn't likely to be needed in order to lighten the load. With an assortment of shotgun shells and weapons, he's as ready as he can be. All that remained was to call Sam and let him know what was going on; but instead of reaching Sam or his voice mail, Dean got squat. He still had plenty of charge left on his phone, but couldn't get a signal, which made no sense at all seeing as he had just talked with Sam earlier that evening. Well, it made no sense if things were normal, so it just went to prove that something unnatural was up and his job was indeed calling him.

Dean found an old envelope and quickly scribbled a note explaining what had happened and what he planned to do, then placed it on the table where it couldn't be missed. If all went well, he'd burn the note in the wood stove when he returned. If it was still there when Sammy got back, then at least he'd know why Dean was missing. Knowing where his soul was going to end up, Dean wasn't really concerned about the need to salt and burn his corpse, but he knew that Sam wouldn't rest until he could at least put his brother's body to rest. '_Sorry, Sammy_.', he thought, '_You deserve a better goodbye than this_._ But you'll understand why I have to do this._' Once again it sucked to be a Winchester.

Slinging his bag over his good shoulder Dean then picked up his shotgun and flashlight, carefully stepped over the reinforced salt line and shut the door behind him as he left. He didn't bother to lock the door because the salt would keep out most unwanted guests and he might well need to get in pretty quickly if things went south on him. Gritting his teeth as the bag bumped against his sore back, Dean listened again for any sounds that might lead him to his quarry. Hearing nothing, he decided that following the access lane out to the road was as good a bet as any. The lane leading into the small clearing where the cabin lay was little more than two rutted tire tracks that meandered along a narrow opening through the heavy growth of trees and brush. It was a wonder that the Impala's paint job hadn't been scratched up by the branches that had brushed along its sides when they arrived.

Moving at a slow and steady pace, Dean kept an alert watch for any sign of activity, but the dark woods were silent and an ever thickening fog was settling in making it even harder to see, despite his flashlight. After almost twenty minutes of fruitless searching, Dean was considering heading back to the cabin. He decided to make one last sweep with the emf meter before calling off the search and chalking the night off to an overactive imagination mixed with too much stress. He figured he must be seeing monsters where they didn't exist. '_And you call yourself a professional'_, he scoffed to himself. He must be slipping... losing his edge. _Whatever._ He needed to get sharp, regain his edge if he was going to be any use to Sam while he was still around.

Checking the emf meter yielded a big fat nothing and Dean started to turn back towards the cabin when he heard a faint cry in the distance. The beam from his flashlight could barely penetrate the thick patches of fog and it was next to impossible to pinpoint where the sound was coming from; but one thing was certain, he would have to leave the path and enter the woods. Every instinct screaming that this was a trap, Dean hesitated, mentally weighing his options in order to best determine a course of action. All his reservations went by the wayside when he heard the distinct sound of gunfire and he quickly raced in the direction from which it came. Doing his best to see through the foggy darkness, Dean crashed through thick brush until he reached a small open area. There in front of him was the blurry figure of a limping man slowly backing away from an indistinct figure. As the figure moved closer to the man the fog seemed to clear a bit and Dean could make out the hairy features of a werewolf. Cursing the fact that his gun with the silver rounds was safely in his bag and not in his hand, Dean also knew that the creature was preparing to spring at its victim any second now. Having no choice, Dean swung his shotgun up just as the werewolf leapt, hoping that the rock salt shot would slow the creature down long enough for him to retrieve his gun and get in a killing shot before it could recover and resume its attack. His shot hit the creature just as it knocked its victim to the ground, but instead of causing it to pause in its attack, the creature literally vanished in front of his eyes. _What the hell!?! _

Dean raced over to the downed man, but before he could reach him he was swept off his feet by something unseen and sent flying head first into the brush. The flashlight went flying and must have broken upon landing because its light went out and was now lost somewhere in the undergrowth. Dean managed to hang onto the shotgun and bag, though his shoulder hurt like hell and he could barely move his arm. Half running, half stumbling, he made his way over to the creature's victim. The guy was crawling out from where he had landed and holding his hand to his head in an attempt to staunch the blood flowing freely from a nasty scalp wound. Reaching down with his good hand, Dean helped him to his feet, while his gaze searched all around them for any signs of the creature. "You OK?", Dean barked at the man,"Can you walk? 'Cause we gotta get outta here. Now!"

"I'll live." the man panted back, "But my leg. I can't move fast." They both stood for a moment, neither man overly steady on his feet. "Which leg?", asked Dean. "My right.", came the reply. _Damn!_ In order to help him walk, Dean would have to use his left side to support the man's weight on the right side. Thinking fast, Dean unslung his bag and tossed it at the other man. "Carry this. And whatever you do, _do not_ drop it. Understand?" Hearing the urgency in his rescuer's voice, the other man silently slung the bag over his left shoulder and held out his right arm so that Dean could support his weight on that side. Holding the shotgun in his right hand, Dean moved in close and took up the guy's weight on his injured shoulder. He couldn't help the groan that escaped him, but clenched his jaw and started to move them back in the general direction he had come from as quickly as they could. "Keep your eyes open and hollar if you see anything.", Dean ordered. "Damn straight.", came the reply.

Moving as quickly as they could, the two men struggled through the woods until they finally reached the lane. It was slow going and both men concentrated on ignoring the pain of their respective injuries, though it was impossible for them to hide their intense discomfort from the other. The gasps of pain and groans that accompanied each stumble was a pretty good indicator that neither man was in very good shape. Except for the occasional word of encouragement from Victor's rescuer, both men kept silent; reserving their strength for the arduous trek to safe ground. Once on the slightly smoother ground, the going got easier, but by then both men were pushing their limits and it was only with great effort that they made their way along the path until they came within view of the cabin. "Thank god!" they both gasped as they tumbled through the door and lay in a heap on the floor. Slowly Dean rose up on his knees and pushed the door shut, leaning against it as he caught his breath.

Gritting his teeth, he then turned around and looked at the other man still laying face down on the floor. "I'm gonna see if I can lift you enough so you can get in that chair over there.", he told him. The man just nodded and, after slipping off the duffel, started to push himself up from the floor as Dean bent down and helped him half stagger, half walk over to the chairs around the table. Once he got him in the nearest chair, Dean stepped back and nearly fell himself. Grabbing at a second chair, he collapsed into it and then leaned forward to rest his head on the table. For a long moment, neither man made any effort to move, each content just to take slow, deep breaths and try to regain some strength while they could. Who knew when this brief respite would end and they would be forced into action again.

Finally Dean roused himself enough to get up and go over to dry sink and soaked a towel in water to bring back to the table. "Here, use this.", he said handing it to the blood covered man. " That's a nasty cut you got there. I'll heat some water for your leg." And with that, he turned to go back and find a pot to fill and place on the wood stove. He only got a few steps when a voice behind him exclaimed, "Winchester!?!"

Dean whirled around to face the man in the chair, barely keeping his balance. "What the hell?", he responded, staring at the face before him, trying to see past the dried and fresh blood.

"Who are you? How do you know that name?" Looking straight at him, Dean could see the man's eyes and knew that the stranger was regretting his outburst. Quickly going over to the door, Dean scooped up his shotgun and turned back to aim it at this new threat.

"I think you should clean your face. Now!", he ordered. Watching the man before him, Dean knew that only the fact that his injured leg wouldn't support him was keeping the man in the chair, instead of launching an attack. Dean gestured to the wet towel with his gun and said, "I don't like having to repeat myself. Now wash off your face."

After staring straight at him for a long moment, the man came to a decision and then slowly picked up the towel and started to clean his face. Dean never took his eyes off him and tried to figure out just who this dude was as the dirt and blood was wiped away. _Oh, shit! _How much bad luck can one person have in their lifetime? Or was his just getting compressed into the year he had left? Whatever the reason, he found himself facing an adversary that he very much had hoped to never see again. Staring back at the man, Dean roared, "Special Agent Victor Hendrickson. What the goddamn hell are you doing out here?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The tension in the cabin was palpable as the two men stared at each other in shocked recognition. As incredible as it seemed, in the darkness and confusion, neither man had been aware of the other's identity, knowing only that they were both under attack by whatever threat was out there. But now face to face in the lit cabin, the men instantly went from allies to wary foes. Victor was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was in his injured state and Dean's reaction fluctuated from an intense sense of despair to one of rage and anger at Victor and the universe at large for placing him in such an insane situation. Dean wasn't sure what scared him more... that he might be killed by the menace outside, or that he might end up in a position where he would be forced to kill Victor. Even as he held the shotgun on Victor, he felt trapped and anxious and wanted nothing more than to be away from there; driving his car with his brother at his side, looking for a new hunt.

For his part, Victor sat very still in the chair, hands raised up and away from his body. He had lost his gun back in the woods during the mêlée and was too injured to realistically expect to overcome his captor. The worst part of the situation was knowing that his life was in the hands of a ruthless killer, a monster. His grandmother's face wouldn't leave his mind and he regretted that he wouldn't be able to take her home for Christmas. Funny what thoughts came in the face of death. Victor had been in deadly, perilous situations before, but never had he felt so certain that he would not survive. He did not like the feeling one little bit.

So great was his shock, Dean barely noticed that Victor never answered his question; hell, he hardly even remembered asking it. But his mind did race through what options he had at hand to deal with this unforeseen circumstance. The first thing he needed to do was to reduce any threat that Victor presented; so, still keeping the gun trained on Victor, Dean went over to the bunk where the discarded items from his duffel lay scattered about and picked up a length of rope, a roll of duct tape and a spare knife.

Using the knife to cut off a short length of rope, Dean then tossed the piece over to Victor. "Use this to tie your good leg to the leg of the chair. You don't need to cut off the circulation, but I want to see a nice tight knot." Having no choice, Victor did as he was told, while Dean fashioned a large loop in the remaining rope and used that to bind Victor to the chair, once his leg was securely tied. Using the tape to bind Victor's hands together in front of him finished the job.

After rechecking his work to ensure that Victor wouldn't be getting out of his restraints anytime soon, Dean lowered the shotgun and staggered back to the dry sink where he splashed his face with water to refresh himself. It didn't really help much. Dean opened the cupboard door and took out the two bottles, putting the pain medicine in his shirt pocket and carryed the whiskey bottle. Returning to the table, he set down the bottle and then took one of the chairs and dragged it across the room and set it down facing Victor. With a muffled sigh of relief, Dean sat down to take a quick rest. '_Just five minutes_', he promised himself.

Victor tested his bonds and knew that he wasn't getting free on his own, even if he didn't have an injured leg, '_Yup, those guys had been_ _trained well; he was trussed up like a turkey ready to be popped into the oven_.' _Damn._ His best hope was that Dean would pass out eventually, giving Victor a chance to find a way to saw through the duct tape and get his hands on a gun. _'That's right, think positively.' _The whole time since being tied to the chair Victor never took his eyes off Dean, even when it meant uncomfortably twisting his head around to keep him in view. Watching Dean move more and more slowly, Victor realized that the other man's injuries were a liability and that an opportunity might yet arise that could give him the upper hand. Victor couldn't help but feel more optimistic as he watched Dean.

Dean's five minute rest was more like fifteen and he hardly felt refreshed at all. His back and shoulder hurt like hell and he could feel a trickle of blood run down his back from where the sutures had torn free. So much for Sam's careful work. '_Sorry, Sammy. Line of duty and all that. I'll be more careful next time_.' If there was a next time. Dean was having a hard time feeling very optimistic at the moment and badly wanted to talk to his brother. He was thankful that Sammy was stuck miles away and safe, but he really regretted not being able to say goodbye. He hoped Sam wouldn't hold it against him. Dean knew that Sam would miss him, but he also knew that Sam was strong enough to move on with his life and that's what he wanted for him. He had Bobby and Ellen's sworn oaths that they would watch out for Sam, keep him safe. He didn't know what he would have done if there wasn't someone left to take over his "job".

Keeping an eye on Dean, Victor observed more than just Dean's actions. He watched his body language in hopes of anticipating his moves. What he didn't expect to see was the momentary lapse of control over his expression. Victor had seen Dean's game face before and tonight he saw a trained combatant who swiftly secured his prisoner. But what he also saw and never expected was the momentary look of raw pain and sorrow that seemed to escape from behind whatever mask Dean had been wearing when he first sat down. Victor recalled the conflicting witness accounts and wondered if Dean suffered from some mental disorder, perhaps multiple personalities. It didn't make him any less dangerous, but maybe Victor could find a weakness to exploit.

As much as Dean wanted to lay down and rest, he knew that the night was still young and it would be a very long night if whatever it was out there decided it wasn't finished with them. Most of the arsenal was still in the trunk of the Impala and Dean only had what they had brought into the cabin in the duffel. At least he had plenty of salt, thanks to a full bag of rock salt left by the front door for keeping ice off the front steps of the cabin. He really had no idea what kind of being was out there, but it seemed to have some kind of intelligence, so he decided to use every protection symbol he could think of to try and fend it off.

Putting his plan in action, Dean took the salt and applied it thickly around all the doors and windows. Next he removed a thick stick of chalk and started tracing sigils at various points on the walls. He even added some anti demon symbols for good measure. It reminded him of that time in Richardson, Texas when they stumbled onto a tulpa. That old farmhouse had nothing on him, though he did leave out the Blue Oyster Cult logo. Victor looked on in disbelief. It was bad enough that he'd undergone that strange attack, but now he was convinced that he was in the hands of a certifiable lunatic. Victor was getting scared; more scared than he could ever remember feeling. Not being in control was making him feel desperate, even though he knew that he needed to maintain his calm. To keep panic at bay, he kept reminding himself that as long as he was alive, there was hope. He was a trained FBI agent and he used every trick he ever learned to get himself through the rough moments.

Finished with setting the wards and salting all the access points, Dean picked up the whiskey before going back over to Hendrickson. Slowly and gingerly he squatted down beside the agent, his earlier injury quite obviously aggravated by the evening's tossing about and then having to practically carry Victor back to the cabin. It was time to check out Victor's injured leg and give what first aid he could. Taking out the small bottle from his pocket, Dean gave Victor a couple of the painkillers, while he started to take a long swig from the fifth for himself, but stopped when he noticed the look Victor was giving him.

"Those pills don't mix well with the hard stuff... besides, I figure you're on duty right now and doesn't the FBI have rules about drinking on duty?"

Victor just stared at him. Dean would have shrugged his shoulder if it didn't hurt so much. Instead he knelt down beside Victor and gently exposed the jagged wound in Victor's leg, which wasn't hard seeing as Victor's suit was pretty much just tattered shreds thanks to the evening's escapades. The wound had stopped bleeding and Dean just applied a thick layer of antibiotic ointment after he had cleaned it up. He didn't have any clean bandages left so he was forced to use some paper toweling and duct tape to patch up Victor's scalp wound. It certainly wasn't pretty, but it was effective.

While tending Victor's wound, Dean started to question him; but much to Victor's surprise, not about the status of the FBI's investigation. Instead Dean was only interested in what had happened that night... specifically, about how the car had just died, what happened with the cell phone, the static on the radio, what he saw... Figuring it was safest to humor him, Victor answered these bizarre questions. But in spite of being captive, and possibly because he had been so unnerved by the evening's events, Victor couldn't seem to keep his sarcastic tongue in check; and Dean was barely keeping his temper under control. By the time he was satisfied that he had as much information as he was going to get from Hendrickson, Dean's frayed temper snapped.

"Special Agent Victor Hendrickson!", growled Dean as he thrust the almost empty roll of duct tape used to bind him under Victor's nose. "I'm giving you a choice here. Either shut your mouth now, or I'll do it for you." Dean continued to glare at him as he continued with quiet menace, "I got enough to deal with trying to figure out how to handle this mess we're in. And there is nothing that you can do to help me out here... other than to stop interrupting me with your wise ass mouth!"

No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than the wind outside suddenly picked up and started howling. The cabin walls started to shake and the air around them seemed to crackle with electricity.

Both men were alarmed by this turn of events, expecting something violent to happen; but nothing did. The wind howled wildly for a moment and then fell silent as things returned to normal inside the cabin. Dean and Victor anxiously looked around and searched for any clue to help them understand what had just occurred, and when their eyes met, each could read the other's fear. There was no false bravado or putting on of a game face, both men were obviously shaken to their core and unable to mask that from the other. It was as unsettling as anything else that had occurred that night and they each quickly looked away, unprepared to deal with anything less than life threatening danger.

Pulling himself together, Victor was shocked to realize that a childhood prayer was on his lips. He wasn't ready to look back at Dean, so he turned his glance away to the table, and noticed for the first time the envelope and the note scribbled upon it.

_Sam, there's something going on out here. I don't know what, but there might be someone out there that needs my help. So you know the rest. Can't let down the family business. You take care of yourself. Make me proud. _

Victor had no idea what to make of that and wasn't prepared to ask. It made as little sense as had anything else this night.

Dean's response to the situation was to quickly go over to his jacket and pull out his emf meter. He still couldn't believe the lack of readings. Everything in Dean's training and experience was telling him that he was dealing with a supernatural occurrence, but if that were the case, the emf meter should be giving him all kinds of readings. How was he supposed to explain the dead battery in the agent's car? And while it looked like a werewolf that was attacking Victor when he found him, there had never been any evidence of werewolves here before, not to mention that the phase of the moon was all wrong. And since when did a werewolf vanish into thin air when hit with a load of rock salt? Could a werewolf also be a spirit? None of this was making any kind of sense and Dean was getting more and more frantic as he tried to figure a way out of this mess. It didn't help that Hendrickson was now in the middle of this insanity as well.

Whatever was going on, Dean needed to ensure that Sam didn't get snared in any traps, human or otherwise. Dean checked his cell phone and found that it was OK, which also made no sense but Dean was thankful for any breaks he could get right now. He called Sam and updated him on what was going on and his suspicions about it being a trick by the demons to get Sam, which quickly lead to a fierce exchange over the phone.

"Don't make my trade pointless by getting yourself captured or killed, Sam. It's you that's going to see that those damned sons of bitches are put back into Hell... not me. You're the important one in this fight." Dean's face contorted as he listened to what Victor imagined was an enraged argument from Sam.

"Sam! Listen to me! I'm on borrowed time no matter how you look at it. Don't throw your life away on a fool's errand. I mean it, Sam!", Dean shouted into his phone, then paused and continued urgently, " Sam? ...Please, Sam. ...Just hear me out. I just have this feeling that we're being toyed with. And until we know just what we're dealing with, I don't want to have to worry about you too. Listen, you call Bobby or whoever you can. Tell them the deal out here, see if they can figure anything out and get back to me." Dean's face softened as he listened to Sam's reply," Yeah, me too."

Putting away his phone, Dean swayed slightly and decided that sitting down would be a good move. He'd been running the night's events through his mind and still wasn't coming up with any answers. Falling on his ass wasn't going to help things along.

Meanwhile, Victor was again quietly observing Dean's every move. Looking now as much for answers to the ever increasing number of questions he had, as for any opportunity for escape to exploit. What he had overhead of the phone conversation should have confirmed his belief that the Winchester were dangerous psychopaths living in a delusional world of demons and other monsters. And it would have, if Victor had not just spent the past few hours confronting unseen danger and bizarre things that couldn't possibly exist, yet there they had been. He had only to look at his leg to be certain that it had happened, not matter how impossible it seemed. What was that quote from Sherlock Holmes? He couldn't think of it, but he knew that this was one situation where if definitely applied... however improbable tonight had happened and if things that go bump in the night are possible, then it was actually possible that Dean Winchester had been telling the truth back in Baltimore. If it was true, then God help him. God help them both. Victor wanted to deny that it was possible, deny that things like that didn't exist in this world. How could it be?

"This isn't making any sense!", Dean muttered aloud. Which elicited an astonished, "And _this_ is something that should make any kind of sense to you?" from Hendrickson. "This is just plain nuts."

Dean glanced over at Victor and shrugged. "I wish it didn't, but welcome to my world." Giving Victor a resigned look, Dean continued, "Look, I know it's going to sound crazy... And I know that you think I'm some kind of monster. But there are things out there, nightmare stuff that really exists. Evil things that most people think are just stories or legends. But they're real and someone has to deal with them. Otherwise innocent people get hurt or die horrible deaths. People like our mom."

"So hunting these things is what we do, me and Sam. The family business." Dean hunched his shoulders and then looked straight at Victor, " We didn't ask for this life. No one in their right mind would. But how can you know what we know and do nothing?" Pain and sorrow shone in his eyes, while a grim smile formed on his lips. " At least we managed to take down the evil thing that killed our mom... and our dad. That counts for something." Dean gaze bore into Victor for a long moment before he looked away, clearly uncomfortable at revealing so much emotion. It took him awhile to gather himself before going on.

"But the real answer to your question is yes... These evil things, they have rules they follow. I don't know just why they do, but if we can figure out the rules... then we can use them to waste 'em." Dean paused as he pinched the bridge of his nose; he was exhausted and hurting and he'd really be pissed if he wasn't so damn scared. "But what's going on here just goes against everything I've ever heard of. Rules don't just change. There's got to be something else going on, but I haven't got a clue just yet... and we're running out of time. Whatever it is out there, I've got the feeling that it's just toying with us. We can't run, we've got almost no ammo and without a clue about what we're up against, I can't figure out a plan that has a chance of working. In this line of work, ignorance is usually fatal."

Dean rolled his head back and shook his head. Bringing his gaze back to Victor, he said sadly, "I'm really sorry, Special Agent Victor Hendrickson... Victor. You're not a bad guy and you don't deserve this. But, I gotta tell ya; I don't see any way that we're getting outta this. I always figured on going down fighting; but you deserve to know that it's not looking good for any long term plans you might have."

"Like being around to see the sunrise tomorrow?" replied Victor.

Dean snorted with a wry grin, "Yeah, like that. So if you need some time to think or... "

It was obvious that Dean was not comfortable with this line of talk and Victor felt a sudden rush of compassion for this young man that he had only hours earlier viewed as his worst enemy. So he spoke the words that it were so difficult for Dean to say," My granny taught me a lot of things, including her faith in God. I kind of forgot some of that over the years, but not as much as I thought. So thank you, I think I do have a little soul searching to do while I have the chance."

"But before I go that route, I really have to know more about this stuff. I can accept dying; in my line of work, knowing you may die... well it's part of the job. But I always knew what it was I was up against... I understood the risks... but this is too weird for me to just accept blindly. I want to know what's out there. I need to know!"


	7. Chapter 7

Victor could hardly believe the words leaving his mouth, but they felt right. Was he was actually buying into this bizarre notion? Torn between the old, comfortable way of thinking and the need to deal effectively with the irrational events of the past day, Victor found himself both believing and disbelieving what was happening.

Seeing Dean become more physically vulnerable had made Victor ready to capitalize on any mistake or opening the injured young man made. But there had still been the nagging questions - why had Dean, despite his injuries, gone through such a huge effort, heroic even, to rescue him, a total stranger at the time, in the first place? And why was he still alive, now that Dean knew his identity? Victor had really expected a gun put to his face followed by a bullet ... not the look of shock and dismay on Dean's face as recognition dawned. Then topping it off, even as he realized his danger, Dean had quickly recovered and managed to subdue the FBI agent efficiently and without any undo damage to either of them.

Victor had been through training sessions more violent and painful. Again, nothing like what he expected from the supposedly murderous criminal that he had been tracking all these months. He was almost tempted to say that Dean had been strangely gentle and apologetic while tying him up; not that he had done a half hearted job of it, because Dean had done the task briskly and efficiently. There wasn't any real chance of Victor being able to break free of his bonds, which was yet another verification of how well John Winchester had trained his sons. Yet why treat his wounds or try to help him with the pain? Questions and more questions. None of the facts jived with the assumptions he had made concerning this case. If Victor wanted to know the truth, and he very much did, then he was going to have to be a lot more open minded. And the first step on that path was to find out from one Dean Winchester what he thought was going on.

Dean slid around to give his aching shoulder some relief. Damn, he could really use a stiff drink right now. Make that more than one. But most of what had been in the bottle was used to get through the stitching up of his wounds and earlier he had just about finished off the little bit that was left. '_Son of a bitch!_', he thought. And now thanks to all the fun and games tonight, the stitches were all pulled out and the trickle of blood running down his back was just one more thing to bear. He felt like crap and looking at Hendrickson, was sure that the agent felt just as miserable as he did. '_Suck it up, Dean_.' Hendrickson wasn't a friend, but he was a fellow human trying to do the right thing, however misguided his notion of "_right_" may be. But Dean's innate fairness made him reconsider, '_Well, maybe that's being a little harsh considering the fact that a lot of the stuff we do **is** pretty illegal.'_

Eying Victor, Dean gave a wry grin, "I'm not sure I can explain what's going on out there tonight, because I'm not sure myself. But I can tell you that the supernatural is real and a lot of urban legends are based on spirits that get trapped here on earth instead of going on to wherever they should have gone. Angry spirits that can get violent and hurt people. Then there are monsters out there that prey on people for food, or blood, or life force. And there are demons out there. Evil sons of bitches that kill for the fun of it. Evil things that we send back to hell." The last bit was practically spat out as Dean's anger and fear found an outlet.

Victor just sat quietly with an intent expression. Slightly encouraged, Dean paused and gathered himself, "The real killer in St. Louis... that was a shapeshifter, a creature that sheds its skin and looks just like you or me, at least until it sheds again and then it looks like someone else. And it can read minds so that it can take the place of whoever it's replacing. That's also what killed all those people in Milwaukee... we traced it to the sewer line under the banks, and id'd it as the bank manager because their eyes reflect back the light from the camera. Makes it look like their eyes glow. We would have followed it back from the bank and dealt with it, but Ronald showed up trying to take things in his own hands." Dean's voice grew soft and his eyes stared off into nothingness. "Ron figured it out all by himself. Did a damn good job, too."

"Sam tried to discourage him, took away his evidence thinking it would keep him safe, but instead it just set him off to try and stop it on his own if no one was going to believe him. He was just trying to help... do the right thing. But the damn thing kept shifting skins and getting away from us. Only way to kill them is with silver to the heart, so you gotta be sure you have the right one... Ron was chasing it when he was shot."

Dean paused and it was apparent to Victor that he still mourned for Ron and his tragic end. At the same time, Victor was reeling from information that completely upset everything that he thought he knew and understood about the world around him. Both men sat silently for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

It's a hard thing, giving up one's comfortable assumptions. But any lingering doubts about Dean's sincerity were now pretty much put to rest in Victor's mind. The person that Victor spoke to on the phone in Milwaukee and the prisoner that he confronted in Little Rock, these were persona that Dean used to confound his enemies, be they supernatural beings or human authority figures. The man sitting across from him here in this god forsaken cabin in the middle of nowhere, this was the "real" Dean Winchester. At least, as far as Victor was concerned. Not only was this man not a monster, but Victor's new insight went a long way towards explaining the reason why his files contained such strong supporting statements from fellow enforcement officers and other witnesses. Victor was a fair man, and was willing to own up to his mistakes. If he was going to die, he would be dying in good company. And Victor wanted to make sure that whoever or whatever those bastards outside were, they would be made to pay dearly for their lives. And to do that, he would have to gain Dean's trust.

"So what about the thing that looked like you in St Louis? The one they buried. How did that go down?"

Dean's attention jerked away from his reverie and back onto Victor. His expression changed as he remembered that ill fated mission. Another notch of bad luck... no good deed goes unpunished.

"We were headed for a gig in Arizona, but Sam got this e-mail from a college friend, Rebecca, about her brother, Zak, and insisted we check it out. I didn't think it was our kind of job at first, but Sam's like a dog with a bone... and turns out he was right after all." Dean gave a slight shrug, and then grimaced as his shoulder objected to even that small movement.

"You doing OK there?" Victor asked.

"I'm alright.", came Dean's automatic response, though the words being hissed through gritted teeth did little to reassure Victor that Dean was anywhere close to being "alright". It took a moment before Dean continued.

_"_Anyway, we traced it to the sewers and finally found signs of its lair down there. We ran into it and chased it up into the streets. We split up to try and pick up its trail again; and that's when it got the drop on me. Took my clothes and changed into "me" so it could get close to Sam. Damn things are strong, man. It got both of us.", Dean said ruefully. "It kept us alive because it needs its victim alive, at least for awhile, in order to like... download memories from them. It would use those memories to gain the trust of the real victim, the person that that sonuvabitch would torture and kill for kicks. Worst part was that the victim thinks it's being done by someone they trust and love. Sick. And then the damn thing would change shape again and leave the person it copied alive to face the cops. It copied Rebecca's brother, Zak, stole some of his clothes and then killed his girlfriend, leaving him to face the murder rap. It killed again when we were there. That's how we got the lead on it." Dean paused for a moment, the memories were still painful and while he had concentrated on the injustice of being branded a criminal because of the shapeshifter's actions, Dean had buried the rest of the unpleasant memories along with all the others he had accumulated over the years. Maybe that's how he'd spend his time in hell... having all those memories replay themselves over and over again.

Meanwhile, Victor waited for Dean to go on and when the silence continued he spoke up, "You're right. That was one sick puppy. But how did you manage to finish it off?"

"Um, well ... Like I said, it needed to keep us alive and it knew about Rebecca... so it went to her place looking like me. By the time we got ourselves loose, it was too late for us to get there in time, so we called in the tip."

"That was you guys did that?" Victor exclaimed, truly impressed in spite of himself.

"Well, yeah...Sam found a pay phone and made the call... I mean... we were the only ones who knew what was going on and there wasn't much time left." Dean couldn't help the edge in his voice. When Sam had brought up the need to make the call, Dean had been less than thrilled with the notion of calling in a 911 report on "himself". But since he had nothing better to offer, Dean had no choice but to go along with the idea. Which resulted in Dean being framed for attempted murder and that was what ultimately brought the brothers to the attention of the FBI. Dean was still pissed about the whole thing and his anger and frustration were evident in his voice.

Expecting a less emotional reaction, Victor was once again caught off guard and hastened to move the story forward. "Well, yeah, now that I have your side of the story, it makes perfect sense... but I've been picking through your files for months now and let me tell you - it's enough to drive you nuts."

"Like I said... welcome to my life.", Dean snorted. "The less you think about it, the better off you'll feel." Dean slowly shook his head then tilted it back to stare at the ceiling. "I mean, the only reason why you even half believe me is 'cause you're stuck here in the middle of this thing", Dean lowered his gaze and leveled it directly at Victor," and it's either believe me or convince yourself that you've lost your mind and this is one crazy hallucination."

"I think I'd be happier if this were a hallucination. But since it isn't, I still want to know what happened in St. Louis. The stuff that isn't in the official reports"

_"_Well, you know the cops saved her and put out an APB on me, but the shapeshifter was still out there and we were trying to get our weapons back when Sam got picked up by the local cops. They couldn't hold him long and we were to meet up back at Rebecca's and then go after the thing. But I was able get our stuff back before Sam was released, so I went looking for the thing back at its lair. Good thing, too. That's where I found Rebecca tied up. Damn thing wasn't done with its fun yet. She'd just seen that thing "change" into "her", so she figured out that it was really that thing and not me that had hurt her. Brave girl. I told her that Sam had gone to her place and she insisted on coming with me. When we got there the thing had Sam... was strangling him... so I... I did what I had to do... silver bullet to the heart." Dean paused once more and smiled at the irony of the situation. "So. Guess I just confessed to killing a supernatural evil thing, uh? That should put me to the top of your most wanted list, don't ya think?"

Victor snorted and shook his head,"I don't think that anyone would believe me here and now, any more than they believed you in Baltimore or I would have back in Milwaukee." They both chuckled wryly at the thought, then Victor continued in a sober tone," I don't know if I could do what you and your brother do. I've always prided myself on being tough and able to handle any situation... but this is beyond anything I've ever dealt with. You know, if I had taken you down back in Milwaukee, they would'a given me a medal and said I was a hero. Where the hell is the justice in that?"

"Justice? There is no justice. If there was, my mom wouldn't have died the way she did! Sam would still be at Stanford and I'd ... I'd have had options." Dean exclaimed. '_And I wouldn't be faced with going to hell when my year is up.'_ he grimly thought to himself. Dean glared at Victor, but his expression softened as he realized that Victor was in full agreement with him. In fact, the sympathetic look in Victor's eyes made Dean feel guilty about raising his voice. Recovering his composure, Dean slowly made his way over to Victor and started to fuss with Victor's injured leg.

"I wish I had something better to give you for that, but Sam was on a supply run when all this came down. What say I untie you, huh? Maybe you can find a more comfortable position.", undoing the ropes and duct tape that bound Victor even as he spoke. "But I can give you something that will make whatever it is out there feel some pain when it comes after us. You want the shotgun or the pistol?" The two men smiled grimly at each other as they considered the possibilities of payback.

After freeing Victor, Dean helped him get more comfortable, a relative thing at best given the condition of his leg, and made sure they had plenty of water, both drinking and holy water, and assorted ammo close to hand. He divvied up what food there was, just some jerky, potted meat and canned beans. It would have to do.

Finishing off his portion of the beans, Victor had to ask about another weird occurrence that had been bothering him. "So what the hell took you two to Little Rock? It never made any sense... that rookie mistake in the museum... never made any sense that you would even be in there in the first place. What was really going on?"

Dean stared at him with a closed off look on his face. Victor immediately knew that no matter how Dean answered, there would be information withheld. Even with little or no expectation of surviving the night, Dean would not betray the trust of whoever else had been involved in that escapade. Victor respected that, so he decided to back peddle and redirect his question into a less threatening inquiry. He still wanted answers, but Dean wasn't back in an interrogation room and Victor really hadn't meant to slip back into his "third degree" style of questioning. A bad habit he needed to work on, except that it didn't look like he'd be getting the opportunity.

Instead of pursuing that line of questioning, Victor changed course and asked a more general question and from there the two men spent the next hour or so discussing the finer points of inflicting damage upon supernatural entities with salt, iron and silver, why it was necessary to dig up graves and salt & burn the remains, and why Dean kept a flask of holy water and copy of an exorcism rite close to hand. Dean told an edited version of their efforts against the YED and its recently released demonic army. The former adversaries had found common ground and mutual respect in the most unlikely of circumstances, united against an unseen foe that seemed certain to overwhelm them before the night was through.

Victor even volunteered information on what the FBI knew about the Winchesters and how they were able to react so quickly to any leads that showed up on the grid. "What I don't get is how you guys got here so fast. I mean you were in South Bend just yesterday and my team deployed there first thing this afternoon. "

Dean just stared at him. "We haven't been in South Bend in months. What makes you think we were there yesterday?" he replied.

Now it was Victor's turn to stare. "I was on leave visiting family when a routine robbery investigation turned up a surveillance tape with you and your brother on it. The local LEOs alerted us and I got called in. I was headed for an airport and flight to South Bend when all this went down. Got lost on a detour and ended up here."

"Dude, we were getting the crap kicked out of us by one bad assed poltergeist last night and then drove all night to get here this morning. I don't know who was on that tape, but it sure wasn't us. Honest."

"One look alike I can buy, but two together? What? Do these shapeshifters go around in pairs?" It sounded crazy, but Victor snorted when he considered that there hadn't been a damn thing that night that wasn't crazy. And the bemused look on Dean's face as he shook his head just reaffirmed Victor's assessment.

Once again, Dean pulled out his emf meter and checked around the cabin for readings. And got nothing. Nada... zip... zilch. No scent of ozone or emf readings to indicate a spirit. Add to that no stench of sulfur or visions from Sam that he'd expect if it was a demonic occurrence. Well, scratch that last thought. Sam had been "vision free" since Dean had taken out old yellow eyes with the Colt.

Dean was going nuts trying to figure it out. The salt had held up so far, though the building was shaking and wind outside howling once more. The only thing Dean had actually seen so far was the "werewolf" that behaved like a spirit, but what Victor had described was more like a standard issue restless spirit. There should be emf readings. This wasn't like any supernatural foe Dean had ever faced before. It was insane and it was going against everything Dean had learned in all his years of hunting. If it was a curse, there was no record of previous problems. Could the demons have found out about this place and set up some kind of booby trap? But why would Hendrickson be pulled in like this?

Like nothing Dean had ever faced before; his mind was spinning as he tried to figure it out ... and then it hit him. This wasn't real. It couldn't be, so it must be an illusion of some sort. So now the question was, who was creating this? Not a Djinn... unlike demons, those monsters wanted their victims happy while their life blood was drained from them. Dean racked his brain for the answer, and then it came to him. A trickster. It had to be. There were a number of them out there and one must have decided that the Winchesters were fair game, especially since they had taken out one it its buddies awhile back. For the first time that long night, Dean felt hopeful that they would survive this ordeal.

"Hey, Victor.", Dean called across to Hendrickson, "Would you call yourself a dick?". Victor stared at Dean and the ridiculously huge grin on his face for a moment, convinced that the blood loss from his reopened wounds was making the young man become delirious. Gently he said, "I'm sure some have thought so, but I'd say that I was just doing my job the best way I knew how. How are you doing over there, son? You need some water? I've plenty here if you're thirsty."

Dean just continued to grin and fought the urge to laugh out loud. While a trickster was nothing to sneeze at, Dean was practically giddy with relief that it was something he knew and had faced before. Maybe they would make it after all, though Dean was still uncertain as to why a trickster would be messing around with Victor. Shaking his head at the offer of water, Dean wondered if a stake smeared with Victor's blood would do the trick against their common foe. And pondered further on how he would need to phrase the request to avoid Victor feeling the need to shoot him out of self defense. Because that request was going to sound as crazy as everything else they had dealt with this night; but a stake coated with their victim's blood was the only weapon that Dean knew that would work against a trickster.

"Thanks, man, but no, I'm not losing it. In fact, I think I finally figured it out." Dean looked straight at Victor and his grin got even bigger, a feat that Victor would have sworn was impossible if he hadn't been looking right at it. "Sam and I once found ourselves on a hunt that made no sense at all; at least not until we... um... realized.. ," Dean paused for a beat as he carefully considered how to phrase his response, because there was no way he was admitting to Hendrickson that it was really Bobby Singer who figured out who the real culprit was. Forgetting that Victor had overheard his phone call to Sam, Dean figured that Hendrickson knew nothing about Bobby and, while Dean felt that Victor was coming around to a more sympathetic view of the "family business", he still didn't want to give him any ideas about investigating their friends. "Well, we...um... figured out that all the crazy things that were happening were being caused by this being... a trickster. Kinda like a practical joker, but his jokes could kill you..."

"Yahtzee!"

Both men spun their heads around at the sound of a new voice and stared with open mouths.

"I knew there was a good reason why I like you so much, Dean... besides your style.", continued the newcomer. For there standing in the middle of the room was a man dressed in a janitor's uniform, nonchalantly munching a candy bar.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 ..

"You?" exclaimed an incredulous Dean, "How can you still be around? I thought we...", Dean's voice tapered off and his mouth closed with a snap as he realized that whatever they may have thought had happened back that night at Crawford Hall, the truth was that they had once again fallen for a trick. Even Bobby, who was nobody's fool, had been taken in. And as annoying as it was to realize that he had been played, Dean still felt a sense of glee that the slippery character was still around. Despite the trickster's predilection for fatal pranks, Dean had truly regretted having to "waste" him. But once again his training came through, and he pushed that thought to the back of his mind and concentrated on what was happening here and now.

Bewildered, Victor sat watching the interaction between the young hunter and the new "person" that had just popped into their midst and wondered what new insanity was unfolding. For a brief instant he suspected that Dean had been playing him for a fool and this was all some fantastic con job, but then shook off that idea.. While he was sure that Dean and his family were not particularly law abiding and that whatever facts he knew about were only the tip of the iceberg, he would bet his life on their basic goodness of character, corny as that sounded. Victor felt that he was a reasonably good judge of character when he managed to put his prejudices aside and take an objective look. Unless Dean suffered from some bizarre multiple personality disorder, he refused to believe that he could be taken in by an act, no matter how elaborate. Their time together in the cabin and earlier in the woods had been too intense and prolonged to have been staged. Besides, Victor had seen Dean without his game face on. For a trained FBI investigator, skilled in interrogation techniques, that Dean was like an open book. He wouldn't reveal any facts you didn't already know, but neither could he pull off a lie.

"Yes sirree... I really like you Winchesters... now Sam could stand to lighten it up some, but still, he's a good kid. And you, Dean...", the "janitor" said fondly, " you make me remember just what it was that attracted me to humanity in the first place. I've always had a soft spot for humanity... it's individual people that tend to piss me off".

"Yeah," replied Dean, cautiously eying the trickster, "I hear you there. But I can't say that I've been too impressed with the supernatural side of things myself. You know, demons and the nightmare stuff and all."

Watching Dean and the "janitor" talk, Victor found that he was having a real problem dealing with the total absurdity of the situation. There was no way that the "janitor", or anyone else for that matter, could have been hidden in the small cabin, but there he was, standing in the middle of the place, big as life. Add to that, there across the room was Dean Winchester, a hunted fugitive suspected of multiple homicides and was the person who had saved his ass earlier that night, standing there talking to the "janitor" as if people appeared out of thin air all the time. Granted, Dean did seem startled; but still, he acted as if this were not all that uncommon an occurrence. The evening's events had made Hendrickson aware of a completely unsuspected world of strange beings, but he was still having trouble accepting it. Reality had become very strange and unbelievable, and let's not leave out deeply troubling, for the usually prosaic federal agent.

Earlier that evening while listening to Dean talk about the "family business", Victor admitted to himself that he had originally constructed quite a harsh mental image of Dean from reading the reports in his file. In his own defense, he added that nothing in his initial phone conversation back in Milwaukee or the brief face to face in Little Rock had given him any reason to doubt his original assessment. But the man that Hendrickson has just spent the past night with was no hardened criminal, no matter what laws he may have broken; and there was absolutely no way that Dean was the cold blooded serial killer that his file made him out to be. Just as there was no way that the truth would help him clear his name. _Damn._ If wasn't for bad luck, that kid wouldn't have any luck at all. Realizing that this line of thought would get him nowhere, Victor gave his head a quick shake and returned his attention back onto the strange figure before him just as he, or was it really it, spoke again.

"You do have a point there.", the janitor responded cheerily. "Can't say that I'm a fan of demons either. Pompous bastards... no sense of humor. Definitely can't take a joke... Unfortunately, there's not too much I can do about them." Suddenly looking quite thoughtful, he continued, " At least not overtly."

The being paused for a beat and then went on in a deliberate manner, " There's natural laws and then there are supernatural laws - everyone has some sort of rules they have to follow. And by the same token, every rule has its loophole." The janitor paused dramatically, quite obviously enjoying itself way too much for either man's comfort. "And that's where you boys come in." the trickster finally supplied with a shit eating grin, rocking back on his heels and looking incredibly pleased with himself. "I've been keeping tabs on the three of you."

Dean wasn't sure what to make of all this, as he silently digested this puzzling revelation, looking for the hidden angle that would really explain the trickster's involvement and possibly give him some hint about what he should do. The biggest reason why he couldn't act now was the simple fact that, while Victor and his blood were in easy reach, Dean had nothing in the entire arsenal laid out around them that would serve as a stake. _Son of a bitch!_ And he had thought he had pretty much every base covered when preparing for the fight that night.

Victor, on the other hand, was beside himself with questions. "Am I to understand that we aren't about to be torn to pieces in the next few hours?", he rasped out. "And if so, just why the hell not?" Reacting with a combination of mixed emotions and raw nerves, Victor was not feeling very diplomatic.

The "janitor" barely glanced at the Special Agent before returning his gaze to Dean. "Care to introduce us?"

Completely thrown for a moment, Dean shook his head in bewilderment and said to Victor, "I'm not sure what name he goes by, but this is the Trickster I was just talking about." Turning back to face the trickster, he fairly snarled, "And since I think it's a sure bet that you're the one responsible for Hendrickson being here, I'm done talking." "No, wait. I take that back. I want to know just what the hell you've got cooked up for us. And why us, for that matter? This some kind of payback?", Dean ranted on belligerently. He could match Victor and raise him one on the "bluntness" scale.

"Ah, Dean," said the "janitor" dotingly. "So brusque and to the point. But then that makes it all the more likely that your opponents will underestimate you." This last bit said with a pointed glance in Victor's direction. "Has Special Agent Victor Hendrickson let you in on how hard he's worked to apprehend you and Sam? He's practically made it his mission in life to bring you down." The Trickster chuckled softly. " Made life hell for anyone who slowed him down or got in his way." "He can be such a humorless pain in the ass.", was added with a snort. "But he does have a redeeming feature or two."

Victor stared in shock. The trickster's assessment of him was not too far off the mark, for the agent did recognize that he tended to be a driven man and maybe a little bit too cock sure of himself and his assumptions; but he was amazed that this person... creature, or whatever this being was, had such intimate knowledge of him. It was more than a little disturbing. And being the practical man that he was, Victor tried to imagine what it would be like to match wits with a being that had such incredible powers and abilities. His respect for Dean and his brother shot up several notches and he had only just touched the surface of the puzzle. That thought was immediately followed with a twinge of pity for them. It had been Victor's choice to make his job his life; it didn't seem like the Winchester brothers had ever had that option. They were thrust into this life when still children and it didn't look like they would ever escape it. How long they would manage to survive was anyone's guess.

"So you brought an agent of the FBI out here where me and Sam are holed up... for what? Were you responsible for that damn poltergeist too? What the hell do we have that could possibly interest you? 'Cause I still don't quite get why this whole setup... I mean, this isn't the same type of gig as back at that school. You know, dicks getting what they deserve. At least... well, you know what I mean." Dean's attitude had pretty much finished the shift from scared to pissed off, but he had been running on fumes for the past day and couldn't keep up the tirade for as long as he might have liked. He was just too exhausted.

He needn't have worried, however, because an equally pissed off Special Agent of the FBI joined in with his own objections to the treatment he and Dean had received over the past few hours. "Just who or what the hell are you to be passing judgment on us? So yeah, neither one of us is even close to perfect; but we both do the best we can to make a difference... make things better."

"Exactly!", laughed the Trickster," But I'm not in the business of miracles... and that's exactly what it would have taken to get you, Special Agent Hendrickson, to recognize that fact." Pointing his finger practically in Victor's nose to emphasize his point, the trickster waited for Victor to absorb the truth in what he had just said before resuming his little speech.

"Let me put it bluntly. I hate demons. And there's been a small army of those bastards released from hell thanks to what Dean here calls the yellow eyed demon. Now Sam and Dean are committed to sending them back to where they came from and I'm all for it. But there's this little problem with them being fugitives on the run and a certain FBI agent who stands a good chance of taking them down before they can get the job done." Rocking back on his heels, the trickster slowly shook his head,"Really guys, do I need to draw you a picture?" "Fine. I need the Winchesters to have less BS to contend with. Comprende? It's hard enough dealing with demons as it is, without distractions.

Victor's eyebrows shot up at thought of being regarded as a "distraction", while Dean just stood and stared. But then the trickster's reference to a demonic army brought Victor's attention back to the problem at hand and his complete ignorance about whatever army was being referred to.

"OK, stop right there. What demonic army?", Victor blurted. He rose up from his chair intending to spin about facing Dean and almost fell when his injured leg refused to cooperate. " I thought there were just a few dozen out there, the way you were talking to your brother and what you told me.", he hollered. " Just for the record, how many of the damned things are we talking about here?"

Dean got an uncomfortable look on his face and had to turn his face away for a second. Slowly looking back at Victor, he softly replied, "Maybe a couple hundred."

"You people are facing a demonic army of maybe two hundred strong and you don't think that's important for me to know? "

"Look, it's not like telling you would have changed anything that was gonna happen.", Dean said in his own defense. "I figured us to be dead by morning. I didn't want you to... you know... worry."

Victor couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Not worry? For god's sake, we were facing death! Or at least that's what we thought. What's one more worry? I asked you what was going on. I wanted the truth, not some sugar coated half truth."

He was all set to rip Dean up one side and down the other, when Dean continued quietly, "You said you were visiting family. And there's a war brewing. You didn't need to be worrying about them being caught up in the coming battle, knowing you wouldn't be there... not able to help. We're kinda jinxes that way, in case you hadn't noticed."

Victor's tirade came to a screeching halt as he considered Dean's words. "You were trying to shield me from the truth? Shit, man, I'm a big boy and have been for some time now." He stopped short as he caught an expression of misery flash across Dean's face and made an effort to compose himself. After a brief pause he continued, "But I thank you for your concern. You don't know me any more than I really know you." Both men stood uncomfortably for a second.

"See. I knew you guys had a lot in common.", declared the trickster, interrupting the awkward moment. "What you both need to know is that there's lots of things out there that have no interest in humans and your world - it's only the few that do that you ever hear anything about. The ones that stand out the most are the ones that have violent tendencies; and even then, there are rules that prevent the worst of them from being more... shall we say... direct and just taking over this plane of existence by force. Most of us are content to co-exist with your kind and work within the rules. Or at least only just bend them a bit now and then. Call it sort of a state of truce out there. Nobody winning... but nobody losing either. And let's just say that demons do not make good winners and even worse losers, so there's good reason to want to keep the status quo."

The two humans considered the trickster's words. It made sense in a weird sort of way, but it still left them with plenty of unanswered questions. Victor spoke up, "You said you were keeping tabs on us... how does that work?"

"Just because I'm immortal doesn't mean I don't keep up with the times.", the trickster quipped, right before placing his hand over his heart and intoning in a mournful tone, "World Weekly News, may you rest in peace. You will be missed." Then not skipping a beat, was back to his bantering tone, "But I do have to say, that world wide web is pret-ty impressive." , and rocking back on his heels like some good old boy. "It's really great how easy it is to hack into the information highway and have a little fun. Do you have any idea how dull existence can be without a little "fun"?. Especially when if you've seen it once, you've seen it countless times before. Anyway, you guys really have a lot more in common than you think. I figured you two just needed a chance to get to know each other. And then I'd tell you both the new rules of the game."

Dean starting shaking his head, "Why should you care about us? You're a frigging demi god, you got more power in your little finger than all of us put together. What can we do against demons that you can't do better."

"Yeah, we're strong... but so are demons", answered the trickster. "I can kill a demon, but by the same token, a demon can kill me. There aren't very many of us, so we stay under the radar as much as possible."

"I'm really quite proud of myself on this one, getting you two together without any inconvenient distractions. I don't usually do subtle. Though I felt kinda bad about the pilot. But he was ignoring doctor's orders about cutting back on those rich sauces, so I probably did him a favor in the long run because his blood test results are going to prove very interesting." The janitor smirked and then continued, "But as I was saying, my other choice was putting the airport's computer system on the blink and that seemed a just a little extreme... of course, if you hadn't decided to take your chances driving, Victor, I would have had no choice but to go that route. After all, couldn't have you missing out on all the fun and special bonding moments."

Both Victor and Dean could only stare at the trickster in shocked disbelief. If the events of the past day were the trickster's idea of subtle, they hoped to god to avoid any heavy handed methods he might employ. Dean remembered all too well their last encounter with the trickster and realized that they had gotten off light that time as well. That is, if a three day headache from bouncing head first off those auditorium seats counted as easy. But then the hunter realized that Sam hadn't been included in the deal with Hendrickson and he had to ask, "So then you're the reason why Sam's not here?

"Good, good. Was wondering when you'd pick up on that. Yeah, that's me too. But you don't need to call Sam and tell him the car's alright. After your little phone call together, I ended up having to have a little talk with him."

On hearing that, Dean tensed and had to struggle to maintain control over his emotions, knowing full well that he needed to keep his wits about him. The "janitor" produced a candy bar from his pocket and started taking bites from it while fixing Dean with a disapproving stare. " Don't give me that look, Dean. You didn't really think that Sam would let a dead starter keep him from racing to your rescue. He kept trying to find a car to take and get back here." Dean was taken aback by the trickster's casual statement, nor could he help the visceral reaction to the thought of that being messing with his kid brother, however innocuously.

"Oh, but it was fun watching him race around town, only to find every car he came across just happened to have a flat tire.", chuckled the trickster. Causing Dean to remember back to when he found the Impala sitting on four flattened tires and his face darkened. Which was just what the trickster intended, for there was more that had gone on between him and Sam and he wanted Dean distracted enough to not wonder about it.

"I don't know how you ever managed to say no to that kid. After the fifth flat tire, he just looked so heart broken, I couldn't keep it up." And that part, at least, was true. Sam had looked so woebegone when he realized that someone or some thing was not going to let him reach his brother. Of course, the trickster already had every intention of having a talk with Sam, sans big brother Dean. But Sam's despair caused him to cut the torment short.

------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours earlier that night.

Standing there in the dark driveway next to yet another car with a mysteriously flat tire, Sam struggled to regain his composure. If he couldn't steal a car, then he would return to the garage, take whatever weapons he could reasonably carry and hike back up the road to the cabin. Fearing he might already be too late, Sam tried to call his brother, only to find that once again there was no signal. Fighting down his panic, Sam headed back to the garage. Approaching the Impala, he had a momentary impression that it sat in front of the garage on four flat tires. As he got closer he could see that it was just an illusion caused by a slight dip in the pavement, but it triggered a nagging memory of something similar that had happened not so long before. By the time he reached the car, Sam had reviewed the day's events and was pretty certain that he knew what was causing this crazy run of "bad luck". What he didn't know was what to do about it.

It was time to improvise, so he called out, "OK. You got me. I'm not going anywhere." Sam gazed all about trying to see into the evening's darkness for any sign of the supernatural being he was fairly certain was out there. " Can you at least show yourself? I can't hurt you."

A highly amused chuckle resounded through the air, and Sam turned around to see a familiar janitorial figure leaning against the driver's door of the Impala, cleaning away at "his" fingernails. "Well, you got that one right there, Sammy boy." said the figure and, giving his nails one final inspection, then looked up at Sam. "And I expect that you've also figured out that I'm not any threat to you... or Dean either."  
Sam nodded his assent and waited for the trickster to continue. He really had no idea what the trickster was up to or what it could want from him or Dean., so he waited for the being to reveal its intentions.

"You Winchester boys have gotten yourselves into a bit of a pickle, haven't you."

Not sure what to make of this, Sam hesitated before answering. "I'm not sure just what you're talking about. We're hunters; it comes with the territory."

"Yes, you are. But not every hunter gets to witness the opening of the gates of hell, much less survive it. You boys are special any way you look at it... managed to get the gates closed while you were at it. And let's not forget Dean putting an end to old Azazel." The trickster straightened up and stepped away from the car to face Sam directly. "And not every hunter has a brother that would make the ultimate sacrifice to save them. I liked Dean before, but now I really admire him. And that deal of his just totally offends my sense of justice."


	9. Chapter 9

Authors note: Despite having this story pretty much blocked out in my mind from the start, I have been amazed at where this little tale has taken me. For the last three chapters, I originally figured that each would be the concluding one. Wrong! Instead the characters had more to say than I first anticipated. And Sam, the big brat, just completely hijacked this chapter. No wonder Dean has such a hard time saying no to the kid.

Chap 9

In all of Sam's less than ordinary life, never had he felt as off balance and shocked as he did in that surreal moment as he absorbed the import of the trickster's words. Heart beating faster and faster, Sam struggled to curb his wild hope that Dean's salvation was at hand. '_It's a trickster, after all. And one that we tried to kill not so long ago.', _he told himself. _" It knows how to push our buttons every bit as well as any demon.'_

Unnerved, Sam stood staring at the trickster, desperately wishing but hardly daring to believe what he had just heard. The day had just gone from bizarre to surreal in the blink of an eye and Sam wracked his brain for some clues as to just how he was supposed to respond. How the hell did this demi god, or whatever it was, know about the deal? It made some kind of sense that the demons would share information, but not with a trickster. And why should this unrepentant prankster care about the fate of a hunter who had done his best to waste it? Revenge was more in the line of what Sam expected, not indignation about how unfair the Crossroads Demon's deal had been to Dean, however much Sam agreed with that assessment of Dean's situation. Sam didn't trust Ruby, he saw no reason to start now with something as notoriously slippery as a trickster.

"You don't get it yet, do you.", remarked the "janitor", leaning back once more against the Impala. "Well, I have a pretty simple motto... one your brother picked up on right off."

"You mean about "dicks" getting what they deserve?", responded Sam.

"In a manner of speaking. I merely provide the petard... they hoist themselves on it all by themselves.", came the breezy response. "I like to think of it as the punishment fitting the crime." And with those words, the janitor transformed into a corpulent Japanese gentleman dressed in ornate silk robes and elaborate headdress, fanning himself with a silk and ivory fan.

Sam could hear faint music in the background and suddenly realized that the trickster now wore the guise of the great Mikado, and thanked his lucky stars that besides taking art appreciation back at Stanford, he had also frequented the campus theater productions. "I didn't realize that demi gods were fans of Gilbert and Sullivan."

"Oh, you'd be surprised at what attracts our interest." Pointing his fan at Sam, the pompous character continued speaking. " Besides, Sir William had an appreciation of the supernatural and quite a keen sense of the absurd. The dear fellow was a constant source of inspiration for us. Do you have any idea how dull existence can be without a little "fun" to provide some distraction? It's so easy to fall into an endless rut without new ideas to keep the mind invigorated."

"Speaking of distractions.", Sam spoke up, "You didn't strand me here in order to discuss operettas or explain why you think that a professor being eaten by an alligator living in the sewers is some kind of poetic justice."

"Good, good. Though here's a tip for you." Leaning forward, the Mikado figure softly spoke as if to a not too bright student, "Indulging the whimsies of the powerful supernatural being that has taken an interest in helping your brother out of a sticky situation is a much more politic way to handle a moment like this." Seeing Sam stiffen with alarm, its voice changed to a bright, cheerful tone, "But... no harm, no foul. I really am interested in helping Dean out his predicament, as much as I can."

It took a moment for Sam to digest this information and keep his emotions in check. "I want to believe you. Really. I do. But I'm finding it very hard to accept that you'd care about helping Dean after he drove a stake into you... Or whatever it was that he planted his stake into. And can you go back to looking like a regular person? Please."

"No problem, Sam." said the trickster obligingly, even as it changed back into the familiar figure of the janitor. "Well, I told Dean back then that I didn't want to hurt him and I meant it. But being who you boys are, I knew that the only way to not be forced to kill you meant that you had to think that you had killed me."

Sam could see the logic in that argument but it still left unanswered the question uppermost on his mind. "So why the change now? Surely there are other more direct ways to make contact with us. If that's really what you're after." Sam was struggling to keep his mind clear and objective, but he wanted so badly to believe the trickster's words that he was afraid to trust himself or the trickster for fear that it would all prove to be some elaborate prank, some sick revenge for ruining the prankster's earlier fun. Raising Sam's hopes and then dashing them would be way crueler than what had been done to that frat brother, Curtis, for his hazing excesses; but Sam would offer to slow dance with aliens for a month if it meant the trickster would indeed save Dean. He'd even submit to probing if need be. He didn't even care if Dean found out and subjected him to constant ridicule for the next twenty years... he would just be profoundly grateful to have Dean around for that period of time.

"Yeah.", conceded the trickster, "But that's just really not my style. Besides, I really needed to get your brother and Hendrickson alone together long enough for them to get past their little differences and start the bonding process. If you were there, Dean would be so worried about you and keeping up that game face of his that Victor would never get a chance to see what we both see in Dean."

Stepping away from the Impala to approach the young hunter, the janitor spoke sincerely, "I understand completely why you used the Colt on that demonic lackey. However, you do realize though, that even with my help, it's not going to be a cakewalk. What I have, it's useful, but limited."

Sam nodded his understanding and fought back the tears that threatened to start. For the first time in a very long time, Sam didn't feel the hot anger that had seemed to become a part of his every waking moment. He didn't have any idea why it was gone, but it was such a relief to not have it's burden on his mind that he didn't immediately recognize the feeling that had replaced it. The feeling of hope. Beautiful, sweet hope. Real hope, not that desperate wishing against all odds feeling, but the warm glow that comes with the promise of a new day.

Not since Jessica's death had Sam felt that soul lifting feeling; in fact, he hadn't even realized until that moment when it came back that it had been even been missing. It had been so long since he had felt any other way. What with the guilt he felt about Jess's death, his need for revenge and then finally the dread that he would somehow lose himself to evil, Sam had spent the past two years under a heavy weight that had just suddenly lifted.

He wanted to share that feeling with Dean, and felt a shudder of dismay as he realized that there was no way to do so. Dean could not know about this, could not share in it. Not yet, anyway. A single tear fell as Sam came to that realization. '_It's not fair!'_, was the only thought he could hear ringing in his mind, '_It's not fair!' _ Sorrow joined hope, making Sam sway slightly as he tried to come to grips with his feelings. The anger and fear would return soon enough, so he took slow, deep breaths and returned his gaze once more upon the janitor.

Seeing that Sam had regained his composure, the trickster continued his monologue.

"Immortality isn't all fun and glamour you know. Have you ever wondered what makes hell such a lousy place to be? Besides the company you're forced to keep." Warming up to his subject, the janitor became more emphatic, waving his arms and gesturing with his hands. "Why do you think that demons hate Dean so much? He's everything that they are not. You may not realize it, but Demons are little more than demi god wannabes. Unfortunately, what they do not lack is a single minded obsession with gaining power and using it."

"But for all their power what do they do with it?" the trickster said with a disgusted shake of his head. "They can't create a damn thing - they have to steal bodies if they want to hang around for any length of time. Hell, they even have to steal ideas ... they couldn't even come up with their own vices, they had to borrow yours. Well, the human race's anyway. They come here to earth because they are jealous of what you humans can do... and like typical bullies, try to take over and end up destroying it and everything else they touch."

Sam could only stand and stare at the agitated figure before him that was now pacing back and forth, working up a full head of steam. It was pretty obvious there was no love lost between demons and the trickster, and the young man couldn't help but remember the old adage about the enemy of my enemy. He wasn't willing to go so far as to assume any hope of friendship; but an alliance was looking more and more like a real possibility.

"They don't play well with others - including themselves... And that's what makes hell such a miserable place, a pit of despair... them, of course. Hell is where you can't escape from yourself - no self serving lies or ass kissing toadies to stroke the old ego... hell is a very personal place, you bring your torments with you."

Sam stiffened at those last words and, seeing him flinch, the janitor realized that he was upsetting his new ally more than he wanted, so he quickly toned down his spiel. Sam would find out soon enough that defeating the demons wasn't just a human priority. Snatching Dean Winchester from under their very noses would be icing on the cake. And Tricksters do so love their sweets.

"Demons hate anyone or anything that has even a speck of creativity. And they'll drag everything down to their level if nothing stops them."

"And just how do you propose we do that? Or save Dean?", inquired Sam, intrigued in spite of his attempts to remain cool and objective. While Ruby's offer of help only raised Sam's suspicions, the young hunter found himself starting to accept the trickster. Maybe not completely at face value, but definitely as a ally whose goals were not too far off from his own.

"Well, you've spent a fair amount of time with your nose in a book... or is it a computer screen these days for you kids? Never mind, off the subject... What I mean to say is that in your line of work, knowledge is power. All those exorcism rites and collections of lore about spirits or whatever." And fixing his gaze upon Sam, "Yes, and about my kind as well... Over the millennia, since you folks figured out about writing, there have been collections of the old tales and knowledge. And right on the heels of those writers are the ones who can't wait to burn and destroy that information. Don't for a minute think that the burning of the library at Alexandria, or the persecution of the various folks branded as "heretics" along with any of their writings, or the book burnings in Nazi Germany where purely by chance. It's demons that were behind all of it."

"Those damned bastards worked overtime to ensure that knowledge of how to defeat them remained obscure or was lost for good. But it was easy enough to see what they were planning, so it wasn't all that hard to ensure that secret copies were made and put in a safe places. And I just so happen to have two very interesting volumes right here...". With that said, suddenly two large, musty old volumes appeared on the hood of the Impala. The trickster moved over to them and patted the books fondly. "You're looking at something that hasn't been seen in centuries. Treat them kindly and they'll return the favor."

Sam couldn't stand back any longer. Two quick strides brought him to the side of the Impala and he went to pick up the topmost book, but hesitated, looking to the trickster for permission before daring to touch it.

"It won't bite. Unless you're a demon." Laughing at his little joke, the trickster nodded for Sam to inspect the volumes. "I'm afraid you'll need to get these translated. Don't worry, though. Bobby is up to the task. I'd love to be the fly on the wall when you show them to him. He's convinced they never really existed.", the prankster snickered. "I'd take them myself, but this evening has me stretched out a bit thin."

"Try not to let anything slip out about this. Once they learn that you have this stuff, it won't take them long to figure out where you got it from. The longer it takes them to figure out I'm involved, the easier it'll be for me to act. I work best from the shadows, as you should have already figured out by now."

"Well, it's been fun chatting with you, but I really have to leave now. It's time to check in on Dean and Victor. See how that bonding is coming along. Oh, just so you know. The car will start up just fine in the morning. Tah, tah.." And with that the Trickster vanished as if he never been there, leaving only the books as evidence of his presence.


	10. Chapter 10

Trying to finish this up has been a challenge... and I'm not sure who won. But I'm going to get this sucker posted and see what happens.

But before I launch into this final chapter, I'd like to thank the kind folks who have reviewed and provided such positive encouragement. It may sound silly, but I do get a giddy thrill knowing that I've managed to create something that is enjoyed by others... and isn't fattening! A friend of mine used to refer to fun stories as "bonbons for the mind". So, bon appetit!.

Chapter 10

_Earlier that evening at the local garage in town..._

Standing there facing the Impala, Sam blinked as he realized that the trickster had just vanished as suddenly as it had appeared only a short time before._ Damn!_ Now that he finally bought into the idea that the being was on their side, Sam wanted to question it about the books and what he should be looking for. _'Some ally_...' Sam sighed and then reflected, '_Better that than one more enemy to face._'. Shaking his head in resignation, Sam gently examined each of the books by the faint light from inside the garage. The car wouldn't be up and running until the morning, so that meant he was stuck here in town until then. _Double damn!_

Checking his cell and finding he had a signal, Sam attempted to get a call through to Dean; but, as he half expected, the call went straight to his brother's voice mail. Accepting that he wouldn't be able to reach Dean until the Trickster was good and ready, the young hunter figured that he might just as well bring the books back to the rooming house and give Bobby a call from there. Carefully carrying his precious load, Sam briskly headed back to his latest lodgings; his thoughts racing between what was going on back at the cabin with Dean and just what might be learned from examining these old tomes.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_Present time at the cabin ... _

Facing Dean, the trickster grinned and finished the last of his candy bar before resuming his little "talk".

"Well, let's just say that Sam is fine. The car is fine... though it's not going anywhere until after well after sunrise because I want some quality time with the two of you." The smug smile on the "janitor's" face grew larger as he continued to speak. "I like you two. I really do. But you are both pig headed, stubborn mules that don't pay heed to good advice as much as you should. So don't consider this advice. Think of this as your new marching orders."

Transfixed, one perplexed young hunter and an equally bewildered FBI agent stared at the innocuous looking being who had just turned their lives up on end; both wondering what new surprise the trickster had in store for them. Each then looked to the other hoping for an encouraging sign, only to see their own confusion mirrored back at them. Neither man was all too sure they knew what the original "rules of the game" were, so the revelation that the "game" was going to have changes was more than a little unnerving. Especially since the rule changes were being introduced by the ultimate practical joker. Dean found himself clinging to the hope that the trickster really was ready to let bygones be bygones and that it hadn't been blowing smoke up their asses for the past fifteen minutes.

Hendrickson sat still for a moment before blowing his stack, letting loose with a stream of expletives that left Dean in envious awe, though the trickster seemed quite unfazed.

"Now, now, Victor.", it tsked, "What would your dear granny think if she could hear you now?"

Victor reacted to that mild rebuke as if he had been stuck with a red hot needle. The trickster had messed with the pilot of his flight to get him here. What else had it been up to? "What do you know about my grandmother?", Victor asked in a low, cold voice. "If you've done anything to her... I swear you'd better kill me now because I will hunt you down if it takes the rest of my life."

"No, of course not!", the trickster scoffed. "If you don't believe me, then ask Dean. I don't mess with innocents. Not my territory. I just made sure you were there before altering the surveillance tape and making sure your team got notified. Had to limit your travel options now, didn't I?" Grinning once again, the "janitor" snickered. "Being the fly on the wall comes in pretty handy at times."

"But...? ", Victor suddenly remembered his grandmother's words spoken while listening to the hymns and his talking about the manhunt for the young Winchester brothers. Surely the trickster was responsible for that, along with all the rest. He looked over at Dean who was shrugging his agreement with the trickster's words. Maybe it _**was**_ just a coincidence. He would have pondered on it longer, but the trickster was losing patience and had starting speaking once more while shaking his head and gesturing to emphasize his points.

"This is what I mean! I'm trying to help you humans get rid of a plague of demons and I can't even keep your attention on the problem at hand. Now listen up!"

With a wave of his hand, the "janitor" proceeded to tell Hendrickson the "new rules". "Dean and his brother, along with a number of other social misfits are already working on the problem. They know the signs to look for. They know what needs to be done. Demons need bodies, but they don't need to take very good care of them. Not everyone who gets possessed by a demon will live to tell the tale. There's a demon army on the loose and it's a genuine war out there with plenty of casualties on both sides. Your job is going to be to help keep the Winchesters alive and in the fight."

Hendrickson found himself in agreement with the trickster's goals, but saw any number of obstacles in the way, not the least being his own agency's interest in apprehending the brothers. He couldn't stop himself from pointing out that minor hitch in its plans for him and the Winchesters. What he didn't expect was the trickster's total lack of concern about that particular problem.

Instead, the trickster just smiled and said, "The FBI relies on facts and evidence. Oh yeah, and making logical conclusions from the evidence. And that is where I come in. See... I can make it impossible for the FBI to trust any sighting of our boys here..." ... and with a wave of it's hand an old style, free standing television console topped with a set of rabbit ear antennae suddenly appeared in the center of the room with a news broadcast loudly playing. But unlike any normal broadcast, this one consisted of a series of different newscasters from various cities, each announcing a sighting of the Winchesters in their local area... numerous sightings all across the country all occurring at about the same time... Victor got the hint and smiled grimly back at the trickster. The television vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"Oh, there's more. I wouldn't count on the DNA evidence from St. Louis giving the same results as before, either." Getting warmed up to his subject, the "janitor's" grin grew larger and larger. "And as an added bonus, it should give any defense attorney that isn't totally brain dead all the evidence they need to get the case thrown out for reasonable doubt before it even went to trial ... That's assuming any DA would risk their political necks on such a shaky case." Hendrickson didn't think it was possible for the trickster to look more smug and self satisfied.

"Oh, there will still be warrants out for our boys, but running their fingerprints won't pull them up. It's not that hard to mess up computer records. What I can't do is make a dedicated investigator let go of a case. I can slow you down. Run you around in circles. But make you quit? Not gonna happen. Any more than I could persuade Dean here to let me go without a fight back when we first met. Which is why I had to scam them into thinking they had killed me. I knew I could stay under their radar for as long as I needed. Until now." The grin fell away, to be replaced with a grim frown. "We've got us a whole new ball game out there."

Watching the trickster talk to Victor, Dean ran through his options. What the trickster was offering was so very tempting. Way more tempting than those two scantily clad "girls" of his. And, man, they were as tempting as ... Dean shook himself out of his brief reverie and considered his next course of action. If the trickster refused to stop his fatal pranks, Dean really only had one choice.

So Dean considered his response to the trickster's offer and spoke up. "Sorry, man. No can do."

Both the trickster and Victor did a double take at Dean's little bombshell. He and Sam were being offered the brass ring. A ticket for a free ride. Well, at least a way out their immediate troubles with the law. What was he thinking?

With the trickster now facing him, Dean let him have it. "What're you going to be up to while we're slugging it out with those evil sons of bitches? Same old thing as before? You gonna keep finding new victims for your practical jokes? Where's your sacrifice for the cause?" Dean was just warming up. "How is getting someone eaten by an alligator any better than what demons do to their victims? Dead is dead."

"Well, I like to think of it more like having the punishment fit the crime... ", and the figure of the janitor was replaced with that of a heavy set Japanese man decked out in a garishly colorful set of robes, complete with elaborate headdress and fan.

Dean and Victor stared at the trickster's new appearance with stunned expressions, much as if a second head had suddenly appeared upon its shoulders. Figuring that they just needed a little hint, the strange figure started to sing in a surprising deep voice...

My object all sublime

I shall achieve in time

To let the punishment fit the crime

The punishment fit the crime;

And make each prisoner pent

Unwillingly represent

A source of innocent merriment!

Of innocent merriment!

Seeing the lack of recognition on both their faces, the trickster shook his head sadly and continued, "You both really should make a point of broadening your cultural educations. There's a whole lot more than just classic rock and gospel singing out there. "

The unexpected change of appearance may have caused Dean to falter momentarily, but he wasn't about to be sidetracked away from confronting the trickster with his demands. "Listen! You need to lay off the fatal pranks ... now slow dancing and stuff like that is OK, in fact, that's better than OK. That was actually pretty cool. You don't have to kill the dicks, just make 'em suffer. Create their own little hell on earth for them... poetic justice and all that jazz."

"And what's with the getup here? You're making it really hard for me to take anything you say seriously looking like ... like... ", Dean searched for the right words, but gave it up, " whatever the hell it is you look like... ".

"Dean, Dean", said the Trickster with a sad shake of its head even as it reverted back to the janitor's form, "you of all people should have some idea of how dull existence can be without a little 'fun'. I fear your brother is starting to rub off on you."

"Well, that's not really such a bad thing, now, is it?" came Dean's tart reply. "Sam's a way better person than me ... no matter what you may say."

"Yes, Dean, Sam is definitely a good person. You're right on the money about that. But don't sell yourself short. You're one hell of a good person in your own right; I never would have let you off before if I didn't already know just how good both you fellows are. I only target the bad guys; self defense doesn't change that. That's my rule. And I never break my own rules. But I'd like to point out that the professor fell from that window, I didn't pushed him ... he did that all by himself." Reacting to Dean's glare, "Well, OK, I'll grant you that maybe the alligator in the sewer was a bit over the top... "

Dean paused briefly as he took in the trickster's statement, but quickly realized that it didn't really matter what set of rules guided the trickster, if it was going to continue to impose the death penalty upon it's chosen victims. And that just wouldn't do, so he needed to figure an angle that the trickster couldn't wiggle out of. Inspiration struck and Dean thought it just might do the trick.

"No. It's just ducky that you have your rules." said Dean with a smile. " But we've got ours." And the smile was replaced by his characteristic smirk. "Sam and me, we're gonna take down every demon we can... but the way I see it, you've chalked up your own body count and I'm not hearing anything about that... You want us to keep on going, taking out demons... no problem... but I'm gonna make sure that every demon we exorcize is going to hear about what you've been up to right before we send it back to hell unless you put a stop to your little games... well, at least the deadly ones. You can keep the slow dancing..." Dean suddenly cracked a grin and chuckled, "That was really great, man... haha...", before resuming his stern demeanor. " But no more rough stuff. Got it?"

Dean glared at the trickster as if daring him to argue. For his part the trickster just stood there , expressionless.

Watching Dean and the trickster from where he sat, Victor felt an overwhelming urge to burst into maniacal laughter which he managed to fight down. The special agent feared that if he started, he might not be able to stop and that loss of control was as terrifying for him as anything that had happened that evening. Victor didn't just like being in control, he needed that sense of being the master of his fate. He had lost that feeling earlier that night and was still waiting for its return. He marveled that Dean was able to not just cope with all the shocks and assaults of this past night but now was standing up to the being responsible for their current situation and actually taking issue with the terms of the bargain to be made.

The room was dead quiet as the three occupants stared at each other, no one willing to break the silence. Dean and Victor both knew how vulnerable they were if the trickster decided to play rough, but what's done is done and now all they could do was to wait and see how this mercurial being was going to respond to Dean's ultimatum. The trickster's expression gave them no clue, with his face now scrunched up in deep thought. Dean was thankful that at least no chainsaw wielding thugs had materialized in the cabin since neither he nor Victor was in any shape to put up an effective fight.

Finally the "janitor" spoke, "I should have seen that coming... it's something I might have done if I were in your shoes. After all, that's one of the reasons why I like you... you picked up on my theme right away... An artist appreciates that... And you care about people, even the dicks. So here's what I propose. Since I'm immortal the deal is going to have to be limited ... can't change my own nature after all, but I can practice restraint for ... let's say the next fifty years..." Seeing the glower on Dean's face, the being hastily amended its offer, "OK, OK, the rest of this century. Don't push it. I meant it about the rules. So here's my deal with you; I forego the rough stuff for the rest of this century. Dicks will suffer, but survive. It'll be up to them to either change their ways or suffer the consequences all over again... and again until they do learn." Cocking his head as he mused about the possibilities, a slow smile grew on the janitor's face, "Hmmm, I can live with that... definitely. Thanks for the idea."

Turning back to face Victor, the janitor was still smiling. "So what do you think, Special Agent Hendrickson? Pretty good negotiator wouldn't you say. Always keeps his eye on the prize."

The janitor paused before facing Dean once more. "Yup, you sure drive a hard bargain there, Dean. More's the pity that you didn't hold out for a better deal with the crossroads demon for Sam. But I guess they were holding the better cards that time." The janitor stepped back a few paces so that both Dean and Victor were in his view and seated himself in a large comfortable lounger that had just materialized behind him.

"I'm betting that Dean here didn't mention anything to you about saving his brother by offering up his own soul. Got himself a year left here on earth to fight the good fight and then off he goes to burn down below. That's pretty much his style, you should know; sacrificing himself for everyone else. Of course, if he hadn't, we wouldn't be here right now having this little tête-à-tête."

Victor couldn't keep from shifting his gaze back and forth between Dean and the Trickster; while Dean initially glared at the janitor and then just focused his eyes down at the floor, hating that this way too personal fact was being paraded in front of a man he barely knew. Hating also how it seemed to be known by way too many beings with whom he was hardly on a first name basis. Seeing Dean's discomfiture, Victor tried to shift his gaze away but found that he couldn't keep it averted for long. So he decided to concentrate upon the trickster and take the attack back to the source of today's mischief.

"OK, I get it. Dean's a saint. What's the point of all this? You must have a pretty good idea already that I'm going to go along with your deal. The stakes are too high to do anything else. So why drag this up? I've already figured out that Dean and his brother are on the side that I want to join. Or is this just you getting some sick pleasure from making him suffer? Prove how powerful you are."

"You call this suffering? Nothing that has happened today even comes close to what he's facing. And every demon he and his brother ever sent back there is waiting for him to show up. Looking for payback. I'm bringing it up because it's the straw that tipped the scales in their favor. The elegance of the situation is just too compelling, how could I ignore it."

"You know that saying about wanting to be the proverbial fly on the wall? Well, let me tell you, it's everything you could hope for. It's really great to be able to overhear what people say when they think they're unobserved... ", chuckled the janitor. "Makes my job easier, and that's a fact. Dispensing justice to dicks is only part of what my kind does."

"Believe or not, we also have a penchant for helping out the underdogs...and you humans have gotten your fair share of help from us over the millennia. But we're selective about just who gets a helping hand. Too many folks out there are just as likely to bite the hand that feeds them, so to speak. The Winchesters here made the cut. Once I decided on them, you were the most logical choice to include in my plans for them. The best way to dispense of at least one obstacle in their way. But also because the deal that Dean made left him with only one year left on earth. He's got a lot of work to do and not much time remaining. Sammy's going to be out there on his own and with way more enemies than friends."

Victor quickly glanced at Dean upon hearing this and the expression on the younger man's face was one of raw pain and despair. Any sense of triumph from winning his case with the trickster was washed away in the emotional turmoil caused by this revelation. It was hard enough facing his own fate, the thought of his brother left behind without any family to watch his back was devastating. His inability to protect Sam was a bitter failure that he could see no way to prevent. Too overcome to react with his protective anger, Dean just stood there his masks and walls down, totally exposed to both Victor and the Trickster.

Victor hated that he was witness to such personal anguish. A person should be left with some dignity... not be so exposed to a stranger. " Why? Why tell me this? "Victor asked. '_Why put the kid's pain on public display? That's just not right!_' is what he thought.

"Because I need to impress upon you the sacrifices that have already been made in this fight and what you might be called upon to do.", said the trickster, grin gone and any trace of levity banished. "There's a time and a place for fun and then are times like these. Times when you do what needs to be done. We all have to make sacrifices. I can only promise to assist; my power is limited and may not be enough to save your ass if you tangle with one of the higher ranking demons. So don't be stupid. Keep a low profile and you might just survive this."

"Well, it's been an interesting night, but I can see that you're pretty tired out and could use some rest. I'll see you boys in the morning." With that, the trickster vanished into thin air, leaving Dean and Victor alone once more in the cabin.

Dean had recovered somewhat but was still unable to squarely face Victor, so he went over to the cluttered beds and cleared them off. Once the weapons and ammo were stowed away and clothes tossed in a corner, he offered to help Victor to the outhouse before turning in. By unspoken agreement, neither man referred to the night's events as they went about their preparations for sleep.

The following morning brought bright sunshine and clear skies, a most welcome change from the previous day. Sheer exhaustion ensured that both men had slept soundly and didn't wake until the small cabin filled with the overpowering smell of cooked bacon and eggs along with fresh brewed coffee that had appeared on the cabin's small table, compliments of the trickster.

"Is this real?", asked Dean, while helping Victor get from his bed over to the table. _Damn, that coffee smelled good._

"Oh yes", replied the trickster, back in his lounger and sipping his own cup of java and nibbling on a huge piece of pastry, "real and quite edible. Delicious even. I just picked it up at the little diner in town. Good food. Pity the waitress is a bit on the plain side, but you can't have everything.", he continued with a rueful shake of his head. "Oh, and don't worry, Sam had himself a good breakfast and he'll be along soon. Once the fellows at the garage figure out that the starter is in fine shape and he settles up for the room. No point drawing more attention than necessary. He knows you're OK and is expecting your call."

As soon as he heard that, Dean had his cell phone out and Sam's number dialed. True to the trickster's word, Sam picked up on the first ring.

Sipping his coffee, Victor carefully eyed his plate, giving Dean some token privacy during the call. The brothers quickly brought each other up to speed and Dean soon joined Victor at the table and started in on his own breakfast. Hearing Sam's voice had provided him much needed relief and Dean felt ready to face the new day. It didn't take long for the trickster's complimentary breakfast to vanish off their plates and the excellent coffee wasn't far behind. Victor and Dean exchanged looks and then turned in their chairs to face the trickster.

The janitor continued to sip his coffee and didn't pay them any heed until he had popped the last of the pastry into his mouth and wiped his fingers on newly materialized linen napkin. "Wondering what's in store for you today, eh?", he asked while brushing off some stray crumbs. "That's up to you. I'm done for now. Victor is going back to where he left the car last night and Sam will be around to pick up Dean shortly. You'll both be back to the same old, same old in no time. Sorry about the leg, Victor. But it'll heal quick enough and you'll be back at your desk in a day... two at the most. I suggest you remove the bandages, though. Be a little hard to explain when you get to town. I trust you have you cover story worked out."

Outside the cabin came the rumble of an approaching car followed by a few beeps of the car horn. Looking out the window from their seats, they saw that Victor's rental car had just been driven up to the cabin. Seeing it Victor searched his pocket for the keys, but they were gone. The car door opened and out stepped the driver, none other than one of the hot chicks from that night back at the college auditorium. Dean walked over to the window for a better look. Seeing him, she gave Dean a long, smouldering look. His response was much like the one he gave back at the college. _'God she's hot.'_ Dean remembered the trickster's earlier offer and briefly wondered if she'd be staying around for awhile.

Meanwhile, Victor was realizing that he would be expected to provide a plausible explanation to his superiors and, even more critical, to his team, for his whereabouts for the past 12 hours. He grew more incensed as he thought about just being "dumped" back where he started and having to concoct some tall tale that would satisfy his co-workers. Victor was not a particularly good liar, thanks to his grandmother. The woman could spot a lie or guilty conscience a mile away, so he never really had an opportunity to practice deceit. He was busted within five minutes of entering the house. _Damn!_

Struggling to his feet and leaning heavily on his chair, Victor started to shout. "What? You're just taking off, leaving me here with the car and looking like this? How am I supposed to explain all this?"

Startled out of his reverie concerning the enticing young beauty leaning against the car, Dean refocused upon Victor and the "janitor". It was refreshing to not be on the receiving end of a ranting tirade. He might act as if he were indifferent to the opinions of others, especially others who were involved in law enforcement, but the truth was that Dean deeply craved approval and respect. It was just that he had long ago resigned himself to accepting that he was a hunter, fated to live in obscurity, with few others ever knowing or appreciating the sacrifices he made on their behalf. In much of his young life he had been treated like trash due to his family's transient lifestyle and he harbored more than a little anger and resentment over that mistreatment. And while he did have a soft spot for the trickster, he was most definitely pissed with the being for the crap he had endured the past night. Victor, too, was pissed and Dean settled back against the window sill in hopes of some "entertainment".

"Believe me, compared to the collateral damage left behind by demons, this is a cakewalk. Consider it a trial run for what's to come." The "janitor" gave Victor an exasperated look and, slowly shaking his head, continued, "OK, I'll tell you what... here's a freebie. You got lost thanks to the crappy detour markings and were driving down this dark road and you catch a glimpse of some guy in cameo with a high powered rifle tricked out with what looked to be military grade sniper scope. You act like you didn't see him and go on down the road a bit before pulling off. You can't get a phone signal & are wondering what to do when you hear some serious gunfire. What choice did you have but to go investigate? It could have been some wacko militia out on night maneuvers or a drug deal - who knows, but you are ever the concerned federal agent . But the pile of deer remains that they'll find will just make it look like the work of the ring of poachers that have been working in this part of the country."

"You fell off a small ledge in the dark and had to crawl back to the road and the car... Explaining your leg & condition of your clothes. Our lovely friend outside will drive you to a spot in the road where you can get cell reception and report in. Your GPS chip will locate you for them. Sam will be showing up here soon to pick up Dean, once he gets to the garage and finds a completely mystified mechanic trying to explain why there's suddenly nothing wrong with the starter in the morning."

"So. Is this good enough for you?" The Janitor shook his head disparagingly, "What an amateur. You should get some tips from Dean. People will swallow the lamest excuses rather than face the evidence in front of their eyes, as you should well know." Victor winced at the accuracy of the criticism. He had never done deep undercover work before, but it seemed that he was going to now; and deeper than he ever thought was possible. Here's praying that it doesn't turn into deep shit.

"Well, I'm outta here. See you fellows later." And with that, the trickster vanished one last time, leaving Victor and Dean staring at an empty lounger.

Dean started to collect their gear together while Victor removed the bandages from his leg and tossed them into the wood stove. Considering their injuries, it didn't take them too long to get the place cleaned up and looking much as it had when the Winchester boys arrived the previous morning. If the area was going to be subjected to a search for the "poachers", they didn't want the cabin to look like anyone had used it in a while. Other than a few words here and there, both men worked in silence, each engrossed in their own thoughts. Only when the last line of salt was swept up and tossed away and the cabin looked empty and bare did they pause and face each other.

"Well, it's been one hell of a day.", said Victor with a shake of his head. Dean nodded briefly and stiffly straightened his back, his shoulder in better shape today, but still not in great shape. "Yeah. Like I said yesterday... Welcome to my world." Unsure of what to make of the past events, Dean found himself unable to relax. Victor had seen too much of what Dean always kept buried deep and was privy to information that he should never have learned, making Dean feel exposed and vulnerable. The Special Agent was acutely aware of Dean's feelings and tried to minimize his intrusion into the young man's "space" and the two had managed to work at opposite ends of the cabin almost the entire time.

With their work done, it was time to leave, so Dean helped Victor over to the rental car and stood back to watch as they prepared to leave. Speaking briefly to his "driver', Victor turned in his seat to look Dean straight in the face and said, "Back in Milwaukee, you told me that I didn't know crap about your dad. And you were right. But I do know something now. I know that he raised up two fine sons."

Dean's face flushed and he looked away for a second before nodding his acknowledgment. Searching for the right response, Dean nodded his head again and said, "I can say the same about your grandmom. I'm glad to have you covering our backs." With that, Dean rapped on the hood of the rental and watched as it drove off down the lane and disappeared into the trees. He was still watching the lane fifteen minutes later when he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala growing louder in the distance.

His lips relaxed into a genuine smile as he felt a great weight leave his shoulders. Sam was coming and things were looking up. By the time the Impala pulled up to the cabin, Dean had a full on grin and greeted his brother in typical fashion.

"Dude! Am I ever glad to see you. Please tell me you have a cold beer with my name on it in there."

"Wha...? Sam didn't finish his question. Instead he saw the huge grin on a face still lined with strain and tension. Whatever had gone on last night, Dean wanted it in the past and wouldn't be talking about it anytime soon. But he was alive and the answer to how to save his soul might be found in the books now packed safely away in the trunk. Sam also saw their bags all packed and sitting in front of the cabin door, a sure sign that they needed to put this place in their rearview mirror pronto.

So, Sam just smiled back at his big brother and, shaking his head fondly, responded, "Jerk.", and waited.

Right on cue came back, "Bitch."

The Winchester boys were reunited once more. Look out world.

The End...

though with Tricksters, you never really can be sure...

actually, I'll be posting an addendum of authors notes for any one interested or those who forgot to pick up their sominex... and most likely doing a rewrite of this chapter... Or else adding another... Who knows?


	11. Chapter 11

Author's notes:

Like everything in life, you are free to agree or disagree with my opinions. And I am one very opinionated person...

Storytelling is an truly ancient form of communication. Story writing is just one more refinement of this wonderful art form. And to tell a story effectively, in my opinion, it's incumbent upon the writer to clearly portray their characters in a consistent fashion and not throw too many curves at the reader without good justification. Proper use of the language, correct spelling and grammar are courtesies that the author uses to show respect for their audience. If the author takes some license with the language and common usage, then it should be done purposefully and to convey an important point or impression that the author wants to make.

I'll go step further and state that in the case of writing fan fiction, it is respectful of the original work's creator to not have established characters act in ways inconsistent with what has been referred to here and elsewhere as "canon". This doesn't mean you can't push the envelope and explore potential situations, but don't abuse the graciousness of the creator/writer of the characters by living out your personal fantasies using their creations. Be original... make up your own characters and scenarios for that. Either that, or go out and get a life.

I like the character of Hendrickson and enjoy the actor who plays him, imbuing him with a zealousness and distinct mannerisms that, for me at least, brought to mind preachers turned activists like Jesse Jackson and Al Stockton...

But the way his subordinate acted in the episode, Folsom Prison Blues, made me also think that he had gained his team's respect, in spite of his outrageous behavior... reminding me of the situation between Sam & Dean, though Sam isn't truly a subordinate and isn't anywhere near as tolerant as Reed was.

I have also felt that they wrote in a lot of similarities between Victor and Dean... come in guns blazing.. the snark... so by extension I included an innate sense of fairness that will yield to facts that are presented in person - the situation with Dean and Lenore comes to mind, so I figured it would also work with Victor & Dean if I could get them in the proper setting

I guess that makes me "the trickster"... an archtypical character that I have always enjoyed and felt a certain sympatico with over the years. Not that I approved of their somewhat callous disregard for life... still, they are interesting beings that I have a soft spot for.

They say you should write what you know... and since I don't know much about the geography of our central states, I was forced to leave that vague... though I think they were in the eastern hills of Kentucky.

But I feel like I do know the characters and I also know quite a bit about living out in the sticks, running around in the dark - in my case chasing after loose livestock , 1960's cars ( being a 1951 model myself) and what can go wrong with them, and have a passing familiarity with weapons. Oh yeah, I also happen to love Gilbert & Sullivan's Mikado... lol

In my judgment, the most critical aspect of making this scenario believable was to get the two opponents on equal footing in a situation where they had to be honest with each other... and men facing death from a common foe is not out of the realm of possibility... it is a documented fact that bitter enemies have found common ground - sometimes temporary and other times for the rest of their lives- and understanding when thrown into such situations.

Potential spoiler for Season Three... Remember what I said about pitching this idea to Kripke... Well, Sara pitched her version and as a result...

S3 episode 11 would seem to totally blow away my premise and it is now an AU version... So much for sticking to canon... Lol... but in my own defense, it was purely speculative when I came up with the idea and I just "knew" that Hendrickson had to make a reappearance in the show. So AU it it will be; that's the way the old cookie crumbles.


	12. Chapter 12

  
Tag to "Strange Bedfellows" and set shortly after "Malleus Maleficarum" and teaser for "Even Stranger Bedfellows" 

In the week following their confrontation with the witches coven and its demonic leader, both brothers were unusually subdued. Dean was as quiet and withdrawn as he had been following the death of their dad; and Sam made almost no effort to try and draw him out of his shell. The revelation that Ruby had once been human was deeply troubling and raised way too many questions that hit far too close to home.

Sam's thoughts spun around in circles. 'Just how did a human become a demon? Were they already well along on the path or was it being trapped in hell that started the transformation? And how long did it take to completely lose one's humanity?' And try as hard as he could to avoid it, his thoughts always ended up with, '_What's going to happen to Dean? Is that how he's going to end up too?'_

It was hard enough accepting the fact that his brother was going to 'burn in hell' for his sake; the thought that Dean might eventually turn into something that he passionately hated and, even worse, was responsible for the destruction of his beloved family was the cruelest of ironies.

Dean had taken the Impala on a fast food run, leaving his brother behind at their motel room with a stack of newspapers to check for any signs of a new job. The best indication of how troubled things were of late was the fact that both brothers now welcomed any opportunity to be alone with their thoughts.

Sitting at the small table piled high with newspapers propped next to the laptop, Sam pushed back his chair and started reaching into his pocket. Figuring that Dean would be gone for awhile, Sam decided it was a good opportunity to check in with Bobby again and see if the veteran hunter had made any progress on deciphering the books that the Trickster had given him. Ruby had saved their asses once again, but Sam was losing hope that she could actually deliver on her promise to save Dean. More and more Sam was pinning his hopes on the ancient tomes.

Sam's call went straight through to voice mail. "Hey, Bobby. It's Sam." "Um... Just wondering how things are going. Find anything promising? Well... um... Dean's out for a bit and I had the chance to call. Sorry for bothering you. I know you'd let me know as soon as you had something. Bye."

Sam mentally kicked himself for leaving such a lame message. Once he got around to checking his messages, Bobby would be on the phone back to him in the time it took him to speed dial the number... worried about both of them. The older hunter wasn't kin to them, but he had taken on the mantle of surrogate father for both young men and, truth be told, was doing a better job than John Winchester had managed for a number of years.

Sam often wondered what it was that had made it so difficult for their father to be a dad. It wasn't a lack of love or caring that caused him to act the way he had. His final act of sacrifice to save Dean's life was proof of how deeply the man cared for his sons. Couple that with his clawing his way out of hell to help Dean defeat the Yellow Eyed Demon and then that final moment of farewell.

Sam found it hard to refer to that demonic fiend as Azazel. His hatred for the evil being still burned deep in his soul and he knew it was mainly due to the uncertainty created by the dreaming vision he received in Cold Oaks. Was he truly tainted by demonic blood? Would both he and Dean end up as damned souls? Was he fated to this course... and was he taking his brother down with him?

There had to be some way out of this mess. Sam truly wanted to believe in the power of good, something to offset the evil that he knew existed. But he was starting to understand Dean's cynicism. They never seemed to get a break and things had a nasty habit of going from bad to worse..

"No good deed goes unpunished" could well be the Winchester Family Motto. In his younger days he was certain that it should be "Salt and Burn"; back when he actually believed that he could find a way to escape all this. Escape to Stanford and blend in ... be normal. Back in his days of ignorant bliss. _Look where that got him. Look what it got Jess._ And now it was going take down Dean?

Over his dead body if it finally came to that. Better he and Dean take their chances with Reapers than Demons. Sam wasn't ready yet, he was still searching for a way to save Dean. But while Sam was preparing himself to become more like Dean in order to wage war against the demons, he was honest enough to admit to himself that he might well take a different route when Dean's deal came due.

It was a measure of his desperation that he was consorting with demons and tricksters. He ruefully shook his head at the thought of regarding former sworn enemies as potential allies. _What a switch_...

Sam suddenly bolted upright from his seat, almost upsetting the table and the items on it. It was a long shot and he'd need to understand a lot more about the nature of demonic deals, but maybe what they really needed now was a delaying action, a way to keep Dean here in the big fight and still keep to the letter of the deal, if not the intent. And do it without Dean being the one to renege on the deal.

Sam dialed Bobby's number once more, while putting his thoughts together. Maybe they were looking for the wrong clues in the books. Maybe the trickster had already given him the clues to look for when it appeared with the books that night. Maybe he was completely off base, but he had follow his gut on this.

Once more getting Bobby's voice mail, Sam left a brief message outlining his idea. Returning the phone to his pocket, Sam pushed the newspapers aside and turned his attention to the laptop. He had some serious research to conduct before Dean got back.

While Sam's finger flew across the keyboard, a small fly landed on the frame of one the tacky paintings that graced the motel room's walls. Satisfied that Sam had finally started to figure things out, the trickster decided it was time to get back to his "girls" and have himself a little snack. He'd check in on them in a day or so to see what progress they made.

Absorbed with reading the screen, Sam never noticed the fly's presence much less when it suddenly vanished.


End file.
